


L'appel Du Vide

by KissMyAsh



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Identity Reveal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bamf marinette, Chat Blanc Compliant, Families of Choice, Guardian Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Mariharem, Miraculous Side Effects, Multi, Non Felix Compliant, Not A Fix-It, Panic Attacks, Post Season 3 Finale, References to Depression, Salt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 12:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAsh/pseuds/KissMyAsh
Summary: In learning to protect others, you must learn to protect yourself.





	1. My Oath

Cathartic didn’t begin to describe what Marinette felt. There were no words for the feeling of warm sunshine that curled over her cheeks and sunk into her skin nor the silk slide of air that filtered in and out of her lungs. A soft breeze had come out to playfully sing in her ear and tousle her hair before it drifted away. It was the feeling of rawness; she felt scrubbed down to her bare essence and left out to dry. Nothing was the same and yet everything continued as if it were so.

The wandering sensation that danced between her ribs, was that what Master Fu felt? The constant awareness of your own state of being, and subsequently everything around it? It was humbling.

The unassuming band around her wrist felt heavy. It made her bones ache with an untold weariness that wasn’t hers to bare. Marinette was young and yet she felt so, so, _so_ old. Tired, maybe. This was her burden now. A burden Master Fu had lived with for years. A burden he had shouldered alone and now it was her turn. Vanity was never a trait she thrived on but now it seemed like a virtue. Just how many people were depending on her? She was much more important that she used to be. She couldn’t afford to take the risks normal people would. She had to be better than that. Marinette was no longer living for herself.

Chloé being akumatized had ripped away months of groundwork that Marinette had painstaking labored over. Her team, her support system, had crumbled right beneath her feet. It would take too long to re-establish a safety net; Hawkmoth and his akuma’s were growing stronger while Ladybug and Chat Noir were back to square one. They weren’t any closer to defeating him or discovering his identity. Without an anonymous third party their steps were limited. Marinette would have to start branching out, finding new footholds and extending olive branches to unlikely characters.

“Marinette?” Luka’s soothing voice barely traveled over the soft musing of his guitar. She had zoned out to the melancholic tune his fingers thrummed. He had been playing for over half an hour and yet his fingers hadn’t showed any sign of sluggishness. At some point everyone had left leaving only Luka and herself. She hummed, her half-lidded eyes drifting to his own. He was tired, she rationalized, he probably wanted to go home but she couldn’t find it in herself to stand. Luka was like a healing balm. He was unknowingly wearing away at the bruises that had accumulated over the course of the day. “Are you okay?” He asked but there was no bite behind the words. He wasn’t expecting an answer and she didn’t feel pressured to give one.

“No.” She answered truthfully, “but I will be.”

Luka smiled, the corner of his lips pulling upward and his eyes creasing delightfully. His fingers fell away from the guitar strings and placed his pic into his pocket. Sliding his instrument into the case he slung it over his shoulder and stood. His hand drifted down, and she eagerly slid her own into his. The rough and tanned skin a beautiful contrast to her own. He easily lifted her up and for once her feet didn’t twist or twitch. She could feel the soft pull from the Earth against the soles of her flats and exhaled. Lacing her fingers between his she could feel his hesitance. She squeezed softly and felt something in her sing when he returned the motion.

They fell into a slow stride, their arms swinging between them and their feet marching in tandem. He was leading her back home and she took the time to soak up his presence. He was a light house during a foggy night and he never failed in guiding Marinette to safety. The turtle miraculous only served to amplify his effect on her. She could feel his tempo ebbing and flowing against her own. It worked away the frayed edges of her anxiety and replaced with a tangible calm.

Luka was… _extraordinary_.

They didn’t say a word when they parted. His lips had brushed against her temple and had burned her skin with the intention behind them. She could only shake with the intensity of the affection that had transferred into her body.

“I want to see you, tomorrow,” came with a rush of breath, her tongue tripping over itself to get the words out, “if you don’t mind.” Marinette wanted Luka. Needed him more than she needed air. The sensations that she felt from him left her feeling woozy and at peace. She hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time. He made her feel like Marinette. And that was more than anyone gave her in years.

“I’ll be here.” Luka promised.

He left and Marinette felt like a piece of her had left with him, too.

She had floated upstairs as her body swayed in time to an invisible tune. With Adrien it had been easy, it was love, she knows so. How else could she explain the butterflies? The harsh drum of thunder that struck her heart whenever he walked into the room? The sickly feeling that crawled through her veins whenever he stood too close? Luka was different. She never felt ugly or ill at ease. The tittering feeling never dared to enter her system when Luka was close. Why was he different? 

In a way it almost felt too easy to fall into her mom’s arms and cry. Burying her face into the soft fabric of the _qipao _like she was a child she questioned her heart and its fragility. When had things gotten so difficult? Small but stocky fingers threaded through her hair and scratched lightly behind her ears as soft whispers of Mandarin wiped away the terrors that haunted her mind.

“Oh, _mon ange_…” Mama soothed, thumbs smeared tears across her cheeks and Marinette could only cry harder. “Shh, it’s okay, _chérie_ .”

“_Maman_, I think I’m in love.” The ‘_I failed_,’ the ‘_I don’t know what to do_,’ the ‘_I’m Ladybug_’ doesn’t—_can’t_— come out so instead she says, “I’m scared.”

“Love _is_ scary,” her mother concedes, “but it’s worth it.” Marinette sniffles and reluctantly draws away from the safe embrace of her mother. “I was scared when I met your papa. I couldn’t speak a lick of French and his father didn’t think the best of me. How could we work out, I remember thinking.” She laughed, obviously loosing herself in the memory. “It took a long time. A few scares here and there… but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“How did you know it would end up okay?” Marinette fidgets. Her thoughts a whirlwind, “Do you ever regret your choices?”

“I didn’t.” A sly smile crept onto her mother’s face, “I took a chance and never looked back.” From the corner of her eye Marinette could see her mom trace the cut of her wedding ring, “I never regretted a thing.”

Declining an offer for dinner and insisting she was fine Marinette rolled the words around on her tongue. Regrets: she had a few. Locking the hatch to her room she unclipped her purse and readied herself for a draining discussion. Tikki fluttered out immediately, her tiny paws resting on her cheek while she cooed in a language Marinette couldn’t understand. Wayzz was more hesitant and let his eyes wander over to the red and black spotted orb resting among her pillows. She knew what he was thinking about and her heart bled for him.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette whispered.

Wayzz shook his head, “Don’t be, he’s happy now. I’m sure of it.”

Marinette bit her lip at the longing the kwami displayed. She couldn’t imagine being separated from Tikki not when she had become so crucial to her everyday life. Tikki woke her up in the morning, made sure she remembered to take breaks and eat, and remained a cheerful constant no matter the situation. The kwami had become something akin to an extension of herself. To lose her would be to lose a limb. It wouldn't happen, not over her dead body.

Nodding more to herself than to Wayzz she reached a hand up and rubbed Tikki’s head, “We can’t keep this up, playing tug-a-war will only work for so long against Hawkmoth and he’s getting stronger every day. Chat Noir and I may not be enough to stop him.”

“But the rest of the chosen are unusable.” Tikki sighed, just as frustrated as her holder.

“So, we find new members.”

“No!” Wayzz hissed, his composure breaking for the first time since he was transferred into her care, “giving out the miraculous is what got us into this situation! We cannot risk losing the miraculous box twice!”

Marinette gritted her teeth, “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost more than what we could pay.” Wayzz rebutted.

For the second time that night she could feel her thoughts ramble and become too much for her to handle; she needed Wayzz to trust her and he did but not enough. “I was too hasty picking the chosen. I was too naïve in believing Chloé could change. I was cocky in my abilities. My mistakes are mine and I’ll pay for them everyday until Hawkmoth is defeated.”

Tikki chattered anxiously, “Marinette—”

“But I can’t,” she hiccuped as fat tears burned her eyes, “I can’t do this alone. Our victories are resting more and more of having luck in our favor. I don’t want to be _lucky_, I want to _win_.” Wiping away her tears she glared at the turtle kwami, “And I can’t do that unless we have a reliable team and game plan. I’m sick of having to think up convoluted ideas on the spot. I’m sick of having the deciding factor in battles be entirely dependent on me.”

She can feel the light press of Tikki against her thigh. These are fears that have been bottled up since the first battle. Insecurities that persisted long enough to become realities. If she fails, then Paris falls and Paris. Can’t. Fall.

“Who do you have in mind?” Wayzz asks and she can feel the heavy weight swinging over her head. He is judging her and questioning her worth.

“No one yet,” She feels more than she sees the way his eyes narrow, “I need to make sure…” A test would be administered. If she were to trust them with no personal bias clouding her judgment, then she couldn’t rely on instinct only. She had to be smart about it.

The miraculous may be a temple she was chosen to serve but her body would be an atonement for the sacrilege she could commit. The earrings that scorched her earlobes a testament to her oath.


	2. Making Peace

There’s something about waking up _the day after_ that no one really addresses. No one spoke about how hard it was to get out of bed. Not a soul mentioned the tightness that grabs at throats like a vice or about the draining ache that burrows into bones. There’s something about having so much to say but not being able to say anything at all. All the words and scrambled thoughts that sat at the tip of her tongue are gone. Blown away with the wind and Fu’s—_because he’s not a Master, not anymore_—memories. It was taxing to have the constant sting of tears behind your eyes but not being able to let them fall. Her palms press into her cheeks and she digs her fingers into the divot of her eye sockets. There’s something about having to get up and keep going anyway that is so tiring and yet nobody took the time to address it.

“Tikki?” But the room is silent and her kwami is nowhere to be found and neither is Wayzz. And then there is panic, the hungry gnawing of anxiety that shoots through her spine and jolts her from the mattress. “Wayzz?” She was alone.

Nausea sloshed about her stomach while acid fought its way up her esophagus vying to spew from her mouth and ruin her bedspread. The blankets are ripped off her legs in a haste to find her companion. It was a miracle that she made it down the steps of her loft bed without tripping. Marinette doesn’t think, or rather she tries not to, because if she lets her imagination roam, she is more than convinced that Wayzz managed to convince Tikki that Marinette was not worthy. She is scared that the thought is both relieving and panic inducing.

Marinette hasn’t felt the build up of a panic attack in months and now, in the low-light of the morning, she doesn’t miss the feeling. Maybe it’s the shaky legs, or the absolute fire that blazes inside her skull, but something gives and she’s teetering. Dismantling, even. Her hands scrunch up into her pigtails and she is sent crashing into her desk. Several papers are thrown off and her computer wobbles ominously before thankfully settling back into it’s perch.

She takes a minute, or three, or five. The only thing that matters is that she takes the time to cope and sort her feelings out. As guardian, as Ladybug, as Marinette, she cannot afford to be akumatized. Paris was counting on her! Everyone depended on her and if she failed—!

A shuddering gasp escaped her as she worked frantically to scrub the tears off her face. “Tikki!” She called out, “Tikki!” Again.

“Marinette? Marinette!” The soft, familiar voice of her kwami chattered nervously against her ear. The tiny paws that were always so warm and inviting now burned her skin. The cosmic being fluttered anxiously attempting to smooth her hair away from her face and place whispers of kisses against her nose. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cupping her hands just above her chest she felt the tiny god land in the center and pat one of her thumbs. She didn’t bother to speak, not yet, she knew she couldn’t. The hum of magic that washed out of Tikki’s body had a tempo like a heartbeat, so Marinette chose to focus on that instead. The magic that Tikki excluded was inexhaustible and constantly lapped away at Marinette’s skin. It was like the little god made an effort to always have Marinette blanketed in her aura at all times. If there was a rhyme or reason for it, she didn’t care. It was soothing like her mothers’ hugs or the first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy day.

“Fu made a mistake.” Marinette sighed ignoring Tikki’s whining, “I don’t know if I can do this Tikki.”

Her heartbeat was still fresh in her ears lingering in a perverse mockery of her racing thoughts. She didn’t know if she would be able to make it through the day safely. It felt shaming to admit her fears out loud, she should be able to handle them professionally by now. If she couldn’t even do that what kind of hero was she?

“Don’t say that Marinette. Master Fu put his faith in you for a reason! I know you can do this!” Tikki argued. The god’s tiny face scrunched up and she looked far too serious. It was hard to remember that under the child-like façade the fairy wore a cosmic being capable of ripping reality to shreds existed.

Still, she smiled shakily to reassure her companion. It would do her no good to think about things she wasn’t made to comprehend. Running a hand through her ruffled bangs she surveyed the mess her room had become.

“Yeah… You’re right Tikki, I shouldn’t doubt myself. If I’m to fulfill my duties I must be ready to tackle the difficulties that come with it, right?” Bopping Tikki’s nose Marinette walked to her dresser, “I just have to take it one day at a time.”

Bell like giggles softened any remaining miasma that soaked the air, “That’s a good way to think about it, Marinette! I know you’ll be great, you’ve just got to believe in yourself.”

Humming to herself she pushed aside several pieces of clothes—both finished and unfinished—before fishing out a pair of denim shorts, her favorite white shirt, and her signature black jacket. Her pink capris were unfortunately stuck in the laundry and she didn’t have the time to stick around for them to finish drying.

“Do you think Luka…” Marinette bit her lip as she looked down at her pink flats. She shouldn’t, it was an elementary move and _so_ cliché but… she grabbed the blue converse that recently joined the collection of shoes scattered about her room anyway. From below her mom called up to her, warning her that she’d be late if she didn’t get going. She shrugged and slipped the shoes on, completely disregarding the thought. Tikki ducked into her purse and with a far lighter heart she looked forward to the new day.

It really couldn’t get any worse after Miracle Queen and to Marinette, it seemed like the world was slowly regaining balance. Albeit slow and shaky, the energies that vibrated uncomfortably against each other were smoothing and settling. The short walk from her home to her school was welcoming, with the cool air brushing across her cheeks and playing in her hair. Relaxing and refreshing after her stuffy emotions had tried to trip her up.

Passing by Mr. Ramier she proudly smiled at him. He hadn’t been akumatized in months! The infamous Mr. Pidgeon had certainly come a long way from his origins. And so had she. The thought warmed her chest and she made a mental reminder to gift him something as Ladybug.

Normally Chat took the time to make follow ups with the akuma victims but he hadn’t been doing so as of late. Chalking it up to a busy civilian life she hadn’t questioned it but that was another thing to examine in her free time. As a guardian she needed to be more aware of her partner’s schedule and find ways to make their masked time more efficient. If something was holding him up, they had to find a way around it!

“You look happy today,” Fumbling over her feet she blushed at the close proximity, “something good happen?” Adrien. He was so close to her—and that, _him_, should have made her heart hammer—yet she felt _nothing_. Besides embarrassment, that is.

“Oh! Yeah, I guess I just, you know, had some time.” His eyebrows scrunched up slightly, “to think! That’s all.” He didn’t seem to understand but Marinette was thankful he didn’t ask any more questions.

“That’s… good?” For the first time in their friendship Adrien didn’t know how to respond.

“Yeah, good…” For the first time in their friendship Marinette had nothing else to say.

Adrien grimaced, he adjusted his bag and flexed his fingers looking distinctly uncomfortable. And it hurt, for a lot of reasons. She liked Adrien. She liked being his friend. Something had changed between them and it was becoming a lot more apparent that it may be Marinette’s fault. They had been _fine_ just yesterday! So why were things changing so fast? She had steeled herself to let him go, to let Kagami win, but seeing the visible distance—one that had no viable cause—was heart aching. Was it because she was the guardian? Had they always been this distant and she just didn’t see it, feel it?

“I should go,” Adrien said. It sounded far more final than a goodbye had the right to be, especially considering they’d see each other after the bell. “Nino’s waiting for me.”

She nodded, watching him retreat into a cluster of students and out of eye-sight. Wiping her slightly sweaty palms on the scratchy denim of her shorts she made a B-line to the restroom. Double checking that no one was with her she pressed her back firmly against the door and dug her heels into the tile; a precaution, if anyone tried to get in, she’d feel the push and have more time to act.

Unclasping her purse, she eyed a solemn Tikki.

“Tikki, I felt odd around Adrien,” the Kwami fidgeted, “more so than normal, that is to say! I mean I never _not _felt odd around him but—!” She made a huffing noise and tried to collect her thoughts a little more, so she wasn’t stumbling over her words.

The Kwami sighed and patted her cheek, “It’s nothing to worry about Marinette! Your feelings have changed, haven’t they? Maybe he picked up on that.”

She shook her head, “No way! If he didn’t notice my feelings before why would he now? Much less enough to react about them! What if he saw me staring at him and Kagami and thought I was a voyeur! Our friendship will be ruined forever!” A string of garbled noises bubbled past her lips and her Tikki had enough dignity to look self-conscious for her.

“Oh Marinette… that’s not it at all! You’re still wearing the turtle miraculous, aren’t you?” The tiny being questioned as she pushed the dark fabric over her chosen’s wrist. The worn band and dull charm winked in the crappy public-restroom light. “Even if Wayzz isn’t accompanying you the miraculous still takes effect! You already know how much your perception can change while wearing it, it’s likely that you were exuding what you were feeling, and Adrien picked up on it!”

Anxiety clutched at her knees, “Does that work both ways? Could I have been processing what Adrien was feeling?” Her tongue brushed along the back of her teeth and she marveled at the dryness of her own mouth. Had she made him feel that way the whole time?

Tikki didn’t reply and instead chose to look up at her with those big blue eyes. They were warm, motherly, and didn’t fit on her childish form. The idea of making one of her friends uncomfortable itched at her and made a chill shoot down her spine but she couldn’t do anything about it closed off in the bathroom. The only option was to make it up to him!

“C’mon Tikki, we should get to class.” The Kwami went back into her bag with little fussing and Marinette quickly slipped out the door. Easing between the last cluster of students lingering in the locker room and dodging the kids who sat sprawled along the steps the walk to homeroom was more perilous than it should have been. But then again, the _real_ peril would start when she entered. If she could just avoid Lila this week, fade away a little, then it would be okay. It wouldn’t be hard to fade away. All she had to do was not speak up during one of Lila’s stories, or steal any spotlight. If anything, she needed to catch up on sleep, so why not sneak in a nap or two?

After she figured out a schedule and made up with Adrien of course.

Entering unnoticed she saw Lila sitting next to Alya, Marinette was sure if she lingered around long enough the bell would ring and Lila would reluctantly give up the seat. But she didn’t want that, and she was just fine with the once more reorganized seating. Slinking up to the back row she opened her booksack and pulled her personal notebook out. Flipping through the pastel pink pages until she found a clean sheet, she titled the page:

Marinette’s To-Do List:

She tried not to feel too childish when she dotted her I’s with hearts. It’s not like anyone else would see it; It was for Marinette’s eyes only. Tapping her pen to her lips she tried to curb the smile fighting to light up her face. It would do no good to call attention to herself or look like a weirdo.

_ Talk to Luka._

Burning heat curled from her cheeks as she scratched that out. She was meeting with Luka which implied talking. But then what could they do together? She had wanted to buy him some ice cream yesterday, but he had politely refused. He was fonder of sour than sweet, he had told her as he slipped her that stupid, gooey smile that made her legs go weak. What was the point of being a baker’s daughter if the current pinnacle of her affection didn’t like sweets?

_Take Luka shopping?_

It was a decent idea. They could visit a music store and while he was busy browsing, she could sneak away and buy him a new guitar pic. The pen slipped from her hand. She could _make_ him a pic! Well, maybe not _make_ it, but she could buy a plain and decorate it! In her room, locked away lovingly in her box-of-important-secrets, stored both her diary and Luka’s pic. He had given her one, so it was only fair that she returned the favor! Practically melting into her seat, she added in a smaller, neater script—

_Hold Luka’s hand_.

Swooning quietly in her seat she knew that class would be impossible to focus on. Thoughts of Luka swam circles around her head. His hands were always warm, and slightly rough. Not to mention he was _tall_, able to completely drape himself over her and still have limbs to spare. It reminded her of her papa, of her inviting bed covers, and of the safe feeling of the miraculous suit clinging to her skin. She wasn’t sure when she started to associate him with such things, but it felt right. He had slipped through, integrating himself as a vital part of _Marinette_.

Luka was her sanctuary. The one untouched piece of heaven that she could rely on. Her parents were great, but they couldn’t be there for her like Luka was. The miraculous had built up a barrier that Marinette simply couldn’t remove. For their safety. She had to protect them from Hawkmoth, which meant she couldn’t go them with her problems when they already had their own. Marinette couldn’t unnecessarily worry them. Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t as strong as they thought she was.

But Luka, Luka _knew_, he saw her at her worst and expected _nothing_.

It was hopeless. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was horribly, irrevocably, head over heels for Luka Couffaine.

Someone slipped into the bench beside her and she scrambled to snap her journal closed. Glancing up from behind her bangs she was relieved to see it was only Nathaniel. He was a bit of a wildcard… He didn’t stick around often to listen to Lila, more prone to ditch class discussion to go and hide away with Marc. Just because he didn’t stick around didn’t mean he was on her side either. Sure, he hadn’t gone out of his way to treat her differently, but Marinette saw the hesitation. Nath was snappier with her and wasn’t as quick to ask for her opinion on his drawings. She still appeared in his comics, but she was reduced to a side character.

“I hope you don’t mind me sitting back here for today,” she whispered knowing what that what she would say next would be near physically painful to choke out, “Lila and Alya were talking and I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

Nathaniel offered a smile and shrugged, “It’s fine.” He glared down at his sketch book, “Actually, it’s not; Marinette, can I ask you a question?”

Feeling the familiar chill of dread wrapping around her throat, she nodded, “Yeah, of course, ask away.”

“If you were so offended by me drawing you, why didn’t you say so?” Marinette jerked back, he couldn’t be serious.

“I’m— I’m not?” His mouth opened and closed, “No, really! I love your drawings! I keep the pictures you make for me pinned on my bulletin board. What in the world would make you think that I was offended?!” He shrunk back. The pencil in his hands smeared charcoal onto his palms but he didn’t pay it any attention.

“Lila said—” Lila. She should have known. “—that you thought it was creepy.”

A migraine bloomed behind her eyes. Even when she tried to avoid that rat it still came back to bite her in the end. She hated that Lila made Nathaniel feel that way about her. He was easily one of the sweetest people in the entire school. There was no denying he was quick to assume and had a tiny temper, but he was a good person at heart. Her shoulders slumped in time with her smile.

“I never said that. I don’t even talk to Lila. I’m sorry that she said such an awful thing, but Nath, please believe me when I say that I love your art.” Biting her lip to stop any hateful words from spilling out she locked eyes with her fellow artist. It was horrible that Lila could make people feel so self-conscious about doing what they loved.

Nath laughed, though it was shaky, “Thank you, and I’m sorry that I’ve been so rude. My drawings are personal you know? And some people aren’t okay with their likeness being used so I just assumed you were trying to spare my feelings. I’m glad that wasn’t the case.” He squirmed and avoided looking at her, “I ended up throwing away a whole sketchbook…” Digging his fingers into his hair he gave the roots one good tug before letting his head fall onto the desk.

“Ouch,” how many pages had been filled up? There must have been several amazing pieces tucked away in the book and now, because of Lila’s lies, they were gone. Looking at what she assumed had been his aforementioned sketchbook she could see that it wasn’t. It was a standard, if old, note book. The pages weren’t holding onto the media well and every line seemed to smudge or bleed through. “I have a spare at home that I can bring tomorrow? You need it more than I do.” And that was the truth. She wouldn’t be getting much designing done this week, and she could always swing by an artsy shop to pick up another on her outing—date?—with Luka.

He seemed surprised, “You’d really do that?”

“Yeah! It’s no biggie, that’s what friends are for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I were to open a Miraculous discord, would anyone join?


	3. Earth To Marinette

“Is this okay?”

Marinette melted. When the last bell rang for the day, she eagerly shuffled out of the school avoiding the stragglers talking about after school plans. Scuffing her shoe against the cement Marinette glanced at Luka. He had been waiting on her, sitting with his back against the gate and guitar in hand. Luka had been in his own world, not paying attention to the busy-bodies who crowded around to hear his beautiful melody. Nothing seemed to wake him from his trance. Until she walked up.

He met her eyes and gave her the cheesiest smile. Meticulously packing away his instrument he searched for her hand with the same amount of caution, leaving her free to pull away if she chose to,

It was so romantic!

Even Tikki, who normally tried to make her think logically, was in awe. Through the thick fabric of her purse she could feel the tiny god vibrating against her hip. In fact, Tikki was practically radiating wonderfully warm magic. She could feel it thrumming through her body and transferring into Luka from where their hands were connected, “Yeah. You’re—it’s—great!” Squeezing his palm against her own she idly noted that the feeling of his hand was even better than she fantasized. The hazy daydreaming that took up the entirety of her attention in Mme. Mendeleiev’s class didn’t compare in the slightest.

Luka giggled and Marinette wanted to record the sound.

“I hope you don’t mind if we swing by the boat first? Jules’ mentioned something about a permission slip—” The one for Mme. Bustier’s, “—and she forgot to get mom to sign it.” Marinette easily agreed and they set off towards the Liberty. The silence was peaceful, only disrupted here and there by Luka’s soft humming. Most of it was unknown to Marinette or things he made up on the fly but occasionally a tune of Jagged’s would slip out and she’d try her best to harmonize.

“You aren’t too bad, Marinette.” He said.

“What do you mean?” Her free hand came to rest against her purse. She could feel Tikki push against her hand, scolding her for the nervous habit.

“Your voice, it’s lovely,” he winked and _wow_, that would be burned into her dreams, “have you ever taken lessons?” His thumb stroked the back of her hand and she leaned into him. The boat was within eye-sight, but he hadn’t pulled away from her yet and Marinette was determined to soak him in while she could.

“Not at all! Unless you count impromptu shower sessions?” He huffed, tugging her around until she faced him, her back to the Liberty. He placed his hands feather-light on her shoulders and despite the gentleness of his actions the touch felt bruising. His forearms brushed against her chest and she could feel the breath sucked out of her lungs. Luka had nice arms. They were toned, and every move flexed the muscle hidden beneath his skin. Struggling to swallow the massive build up of liquid pooling against her tongue she forced her gaze to meet his.

Focus, Marinette.

Luka was, for the lack of a better word, pouting. His lips twitched before he slumped forward to rest his forehead against her own, “Unbelievable.” He was so close that she could feel his every exhale, “How many talents do you have Ma-Ma-Marinette?”

Snorting, she jabbed her fingers into his ribs, “I wouldn’t call it a _talent_, per se, but Papa tends to sing when baking and _sometimes_ I’ll join in. Nothing special.” His warm body flinched away from hers and she almost regretted her actions.

“If you so say so,” he conceded, “I would love to hear you sing though.”

“Only if you promise to play for me?” An awkward noise drifted from Luka and Marinette gasped. His face was a bright red color! The black of his nail polish contrasted against his flushed skin as he pressed the back of his hand against his mouth.

It was hard to swallow. Hard to take in really, Luka was unshakable. And to see him so, well, _flustered_— Marinette felt heat curl around her navel. Red was a really, really, _really_ good color on him. Her toes curled and she wondered if this is what he felt when he teased _her_.

“Sneaky girl,” Luka whispered and snaked his arm around her waist.

“Me? Sneaky? Never.” She quipped but the rapid beat of her heart betrayed her. His fingers drummed a nervous pattern against her hip that turned her knees into Jell-O. When the boats shadow cast over their heads and Anarka yelled for them to come aboard Marinette just about had her head on straight again.

“Land-legs! It’s good to see you again!” Anarka cheered as she bumped Marinette with her thigh.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much!” She placated while stepping around an overflowing pile of magazines. “I’ve been busy.”

“Aye, no need to apologize dearie! You’ve got better things to do than visit with an old harpy.” The Couffaine monarch dismissed. She squinted, “Besides, with how much I hear about you it never feels like you’re gone fer’ long.”

Luka tugged lightly on one of her pig-tails and she darted around just in time to see him disappear below deck. All but pouncing on Anarka her mouth tripped over her words, “You hear about me?”

“All the time,” the older woman nodded, “between Juleka and Luka I don’t know who talks more. It’s ‘_Marinette this_,’ and ‘_Marinette that_,’ all the time.” Mumbling something under her breath she dipped her head just enough so that Marinette could barely hear her. “Between you and me lass, it’s a breath of fresh air from this _Ruffy_ girl I’ve been hearing about.”

“Ruffy?” Settling back against the railing she watched as Anarka’s face twisted, “I don’t know any…”

Luka’s mom groaned, stomping her boots against the floor like a petulant child, “Well you should be glad! Honestly, she’s about as annoying as a barnacle that one. Always going on about how she could give _me_ tips about better boat maintenance. That scrap of a girl wouldn’t know port from starboard!”

“_Lila_!” Marinette hissed, “Lila _Rossi_!”

Anarka snapped her head up, “Her! She’s the one! By the seas that girl gives me a headache!” Rubbing the bridge of her nose and knocking her glasses up in the process she continued to rant, “I don’t believe in coddling my children and I’d never make their decisions for them.” The woman surprised Marinette, her accent dropping the pirate aesthetic and her body language shifting into something… _older_, motherly, “I just wish Juleka wouldn’t be caught up by that siren. Nothing good’ll come out of it.”

Wrapping her arms around Anarka Marinette nodded, “I know, trust me I do. She’s been nothing but a lying _witch_ since she transferred to our school! I’ve tried calling her out on it, but she manages to deflect me every time so _I’m_ the bad guy!” Luka’s mom huffed overhead and returned the hug.

“She’s a slick one for sure, watch yer’ back lassie. And if anyone gives you problems, you’ll always have a place on the Liberty!”

“Mom’s right,” Marinette jolted, her body freezing as she glanced over her shoulder to Luka, “I think I missed most of that, but we always love to have you over.” He hadn’t heard her, thank goodness. Not that she didn’t trust Luka or anything, she’d just prefer to have him to herself. Segregated of her stupid _collège_ drama. “Ah, mom could you—” He handed her the permission slip and a glittery pen. “—thanks.”

Luka took the paper back and folded it into fours before stuffing it in his pocket. He offered her his elbow and she clung to it. Anarka looked like she wanted to say something but refrained, her eyes were laughing. “You two go’on now. Luka, if you’re back before eight I’ll skin you!” She made a show of winking obnoxiously at Marinette before shooing them away, “Show the lady a good time!”

“I will!” He inclined his head and lead Marinette off the boat.

“I love her.” Marinette told him seriously as he helped her keep balance. Miraculously she remained on her feet and didn’t stumble transferring from the plank to the landing.

Her maybe-more friend laughed, “she’s the best,” he agreed. “Let’s hurry back to Collège Françoise Dupont before Juleka gets bored and wanders off.” It wouldn’t take them long, Anarka usually made an effort to camp the boat out fairly close to the school district during weekdays.

“Rose said she had to stay after school anyway,” Marinette told him as they rounded the street, “as long as she’s there Juleka wouldn’t move a muscle.” People passed around them, entirely in their own worlds and ignoring the both of them. Well most of them did, a few shot them amused glances. One man had the audacity to cat-call them. Luka took it in stride, smiling the whole time.

“What do you think they’re up to?” She didn’t think any activities were going on. The art club was temporarily disbanded until their sponsor returned from his vacation and the gardening club had recently completed a fairly big project and needed to save up funds before anymore excursions could happen. A movie night had been scheduled for next week, but that was the only thing she had written down for the class agenda.

He shrugged, “We’ll find out in a second.” Marinette hadn’t even noticed that they had arrived. When she got lost in thought she really traveled. It had to do with how much she had on her mind, she was sure. It’s not like it was the first time anyway. Tikki told her it was a normal, kids her age often lost themselves day-dreaming and having the Ladybug miraculous amplified that. Something about concentration and fidgety bugs. “Marinette?”

“Oh! Sorry.” They had stopped right before the steps to the second floor, and Luka was kind enough to keep her occupied so she wouldn’t klutz out on and break her neck. “I space out too much for my own good. _Maman_ swears that one day my head’ll pop right off.”

They took the steps two at a time, Luka occasionally brushing against her, “Not on my watch. I’ll keep you grounded.” Sharing a sweet glance Marinette sighed, she was on cloud nine and didn’t think she’d come down from it.

“I think you’ll do more harm than help…”

He hummed, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

“Nothing!” The back of her neck burned.

Mme. Bustier’s classroom was buzzing. Even from outside she could hear the chatter of her classmates and the whispers that drifted from behind the walls. Nerves pricked the base of her spine and she felt _horrible_. The wash of negative energy that bombarded her was enough to _cancel_ out any of Luka’s influence. Something was wrong. Very wrong. In her haste to see the problem she let go of Luka and possibly opened the door too hard.

The resounding _smack_ as it hit the wall deafening as the children inside quieted down. Letting her eyes dart from corner to corner Marinette looked for the threat that managed to thoroughly ruffle her feathers. And there was… _nothing_. Not a thing out of place. No akuma in sight.

“Jesus, Marinette!” Alya gasped with a hand held to her chest. “Break the door why don’t you?”

“Alya? What—” Everyone was there. _Everyone_. Everyone but _her_. “—did I miss?”

“Marinette!” Chill raced down her arms. Lila. “I thought you said you couldn’t make it? Didn’t you say you had something _better_ to do than be here for poor Max?”

Marinette took a step forward, and the class tensed. Max was slumped in his desk, his glasses discarded as he rubbed a palm against red-rimmed eyes. He grimaced in her direction avoiding eye-contact. She opened her mouth but quickly closed it. Alya was quick to pick up on her hesitance and attacked, “Really girl? Luka? A date was more important than being here for Max? You _knew_ that today was the day his mom left.”

Her hands shook, “No, I didn’t! I wasn’t told at all, if I would have known—”

“Save it, Lila told us she texted you this morning as a _reminder_. You promised to bring his favorite desert and everything! Way to flake.” Alya countered and slammed her hands on the desk.

Biting tightly onto her tongue she tried to count her breath, but every exhale made the sting behind her eyes ache more. “That’s a lie!” Her nostrils flared, “I don’t even have her number! She never texted me. Not this morning and not ever!”

“Is now really the time to do this?” Alix glared.

Ripping her phone out of her pocket she quickly pressed the messaging app and lifted it towards the class. The last message she sent out was to her _Papa_, letting him know she wouldn’t be able to help with closing up tonight. The phone shook in her hands. Even with proof, that _no one _seemed to take a glance at, she got no support. She hiccuped and something strong pressed against her back and took the phone from her hands.

_Luka_.

He was watching. He was going through her phone. He’d hate her.

Lila would sink her teeth into him too. He wouldn’t believe her, and she’d look like a fool. What kind of baby cries when she gets mad? He’d think she was childish and immature.

And Adrien wasn’t doing _anything_!

He was just _watching_ her!

“She’s crying,” she heard someone snicker.

“Does she really have the right to?” Someone else asked.

Her phone was placed back into her pocket. An arm was wrapped around her shoulders and she wasted no time burying her face into that familiar denim jacket. “Luka?” He shushed her, placed his free hand on top of her head.

“Juleka, your permission slip is on the desk by the door—”

“Luka, is it?” Lila slunk over, Marinette could smell her stupid perfume, “I’m sorry you had to find out about Marinette like this. But you should know how she really is before you make any lasting commitments.”

Luka tensed up beneath her fingertips, his chest rising and falling in time with her choked crying, “’How she really is’?” The hand on her shoulder smoothed circles into her collar bone, “She’s the best person I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Marinette is extraordinary. The sincerest person I know. If she said she didn’t know, then I believe her. She showed you her message log, isn’t that enough?”

Alya sputtered, “She could have deleted it!”

“She could have,” Luka nodded, “but why would she?”

“You don’t know the full story.”

“I know enough.” He replied.

Lila, who Marinette _felt_ seething moved to place her hand on Luka’s arm. He shrugged it off. “She’s been nothing but nasty to me since I arrived at Françoise Dupont,” Lila sniffled, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“The only thing nasty here is your melody. It’s ugly, skipping notes and the tune breaking with every cord. You really are a despicable girl, aren’t you?” There was a collective gasp and an angry hum of offended comments. Luka paid them no mind. His fingers carded through her pigtails as he guided her back out of the classroom. Pulling away just long enough to walk safely down the stairs Marinette lost it. Tears rolled down her cheeks and no amount of wiping her eyes stopped them. It had been so long since someone had believed _her._ But Luka, after hearing something so horrible stood up for her without any doubt. She didn’t know how she could have gotten so lucky for a friend like him.

“Thank you for believing me.” She coughed. “I swear I didn’t know.” She must look like a sight. No doubt her nose would be running, eyes bloodshot, and her knees quivering. It was just an added bonus that her voice sounded rough and whiny. Really, she didn’t deserve someone like Luka.

“You being you is all the proof I needed, Marinette.” He hummed, the vibrations rocking against her chest, “I’m sorry that I can’t help more. You shouldn’t have to deal with her alone, I can talk to Juleka—”

“No! You did more than enough, really.” Tangling her fingers in the lapels of his jacket she let herself be caught up in the damp smell of salt that clung to his clothes, “Besides, I’m not the only one who knows, Adrien…” The name left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Adrien says that it’s better this way, calling her out only makes it worse and I think he’s right.”

“If he knows why didn’t he say so? The whole argument could have been avoided and the conflict settled.” Luka frowned, “You shouldn’t take that Marinette. It’s bullying.”

Bullying.

That was the word her _Maman_ and _Papa_ used. They had wanted to withdraw her because she had been bullied. Marinette was stronger than that. Marinette didn’t get bullied anymore. Not by Chloé and definitely not by Lila. Adrien wasn’t a bully, he was sweet and kind and helped everyone to the best of his ability. Maybe he didn’t speak up when he needed to be, he was never rude to her. Luka was misinterpreting the situation.

“It’s not! Adrien isn’t the one lying. He just doesn’t want Lila to get akumatized again.”

“Isn’t a lie by omission still a lie? He’s lying to his classmates by pretending to go along with her act and he’s hurting you Marinette. That’s not okay.” Luka sighed, and Marinette noticed his mood was steadily souring. His bright, beautiful aura was slowly creeping back out of his body and Marinette despaired when she saw his colors were muted. If they weren’t more careful, they would draw out an akuma. “Say Lila takes it too far one day, and _you_ get akumatized, what will he say then? Your feelings aren’t any less valid than Lila’s.”

Blood rushed to her head. For all Luka claimed that he wasn’t good with words… smiling softly she reached up on the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek. She still had a lot to process and she was sure it would hit her when she was least expecting it but Luka at her side made it better. She still didn’t think Adrien was bullying her, but she would try to talk to him later. This wasn’t how she wanted their outing—_date_—to go anyway.

“You’re right Luka. I have a lot to think about but right now isn’t the time for it. I want us to have fun while we still have sunlight. C’mon! I hear the new record by you-know-who is finally on the market today!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to stay canon when you're still waiting on two episodes to air.


	4. 蜡烛照亮别人，却毁灭了自己。

Swiping her tongue out to lick the chapped skin of her lip, Marinette worried. She was working against the clock! Paint stained the tips of her fingers and slipped under the bed of her fingernails. The alarm on her phone chimed over and over, even on the lowest setting it still felt too loud to her ears. “Tikki!”

“On it!” Her Kwami darted to her phone and silenced it. “We really should get going Marinette, your project can wait.”

An ugly groan gurgled out of her mouth. Her bones cracked as she stretched out and upward. Glancing down at the tiny piece of plastic Marinette felt assured in her progress, “I know, Tikki. It’s coming together so quickly, I was sure I could have finished it before I had to meet up with Chat Noir.” Rubbing her hand down her face, Marinette yelped at the cold impression. Flailing for the hand mirror she kept in her drawer she dismayed at the sight of colorful smudges staining her desk. Clicking the compact open— “Oh no!”

Streaks of blue and pink lined her left cheek, smearing together to make a muddy purple against her nose. The Kwami giggled, and expertly avoided the hand that tried to bat her antenna. “The colors look lovely on you!” Paying her companion no mind Marinette huffed. A quick trip to the bathroom took most of the color away though there was still a fairly noticeable stain. Such were the woes of an artist.

“Ready?” She asked opening the trapdoor above her bed. Gaining an affirmative hum Marinette wasted no time in vaulting out of the opening, “_Spots on_!” Balancing on the railing she drank in the way her muscles coiled, kinetic energy building in her thighs and releasing as she sprung into the streets. Soft lights flickered in and out of view speeding by so fast they looked like fireflies. Chatter flowed in and out of the streets, the remnants of unfinished conversation. Opening her mouth to let out a nervous laugh at nearly slamming into a building she neared to fast Ladybug squealed, the taste of salt and moisture heavy on her tongue. It would rain soon. The thought sent tremors through her legs. The summer sun was wonderful, but it had been unbearably dry as of late and she itched to feel the dampness on her skin in a way that wasn't entirely human. 

Thoughts to entertain another time, she really had to get going or else she'd be late. Tipping off the building with practiced ease she closed her eyes tight, enjoying the rush of blood and deafening sound of the wind screaming in her ears. Ladybug was able to defy gravity. Ladybug didn't fear heights. Ladybug didn't worry about going _splat_ against the pavement. She was falling, hurtling towards the streets and logically she should be _terrified_ but she wasn’t. The free fall before the lurch of gravity being reversed was addicting. Whipping out her yo-yo she cast it to one of the Parisian scaffolding's and waited until the adrenaline settled before tugging herself upward. Air slashed across her exposed face and ears ripping into them and rubbing them raw. There was the idea of weightlessness, a matter of _flying_ that was so appealing about being transformed. Feeling her momentum lull she cast out her yo-yo for her next swing. This time she pulled harder, tightened her legs together and craned her neck up towards the sky. In the apex of her swing she cleared buildings, floating high enough to touch the stars before plummeting back to the ground.

Rinse and repeat. Admittedly she took some creative liberties, and her sweet time, getting to the Eiffel Tower. If she wanted to goof off for a moment who would blame her? The streets were quiet and those out on a stroll simply stopped to marvel at her feats of aerial acrobatics before snapping a picture and moving on. Nights like these reminded her of her purpose. Paris was so beautiful, serene, and Hawkmoth threatened that.

It was just another reason to take him down.

There was something in the air; a current of shifting complexities that vibrated harshly. Unsettled, but not in a bad way. A northern gust ruffled her pigtails. It was _change_. The threads of fate were shifting, churning and weaving a new path to follow. The tides were shifting, but in whose favor?

“Ah, Paris.” Her partner cooed, “A lovely place to meet a lovely bug.” He sauntered over seeming to appear from the shadows. He looked every bit _cat_ as his alias eluded to. “How is the night treating you, Milady?”

“Considering Hawkmoth hasn’t shown his ugly mug? Wonderful. Now’s not the time for sweet talk though Chat, we need to talk—”

“About what happened during the last akuma attack, I know, and I’ve been thinking about it.” Chat confirmed. Ladybug let him take her hand and guide her into a sitting position, she felt a little apprehensive at the serious look on his face. His claws tapped a steady rhythm on his knee as he stretched back to dangle one foot over the ledge, “He managed to use Chloé’s identity against us, destroy our team, and have more than half of Paris under his control.” She was impressed. Chat really did put some thought behind this, didn’t he?

“Exactly!” She placed her hand in his, “He’s using smarter tactics, thinking more about what he needs an akuma to do rather than sending them out willy-nilly.” Chat nodded.

“We should have a fail-safe,” Chat mused, “if the Bee miraculous was able to do this much damage, think about how much the Ladybug or Cat could do.” It might have been petty or condescending in thinking, but Ladybug was excited. Chat was finally taking things seriously! He had understood the severity of their battle and was finally stepping up as her partner!

“It would be calamity. I was talking with Tikki and Wayzz, if either of us fall…” Ladybug confirmed, the late night worries a terrifying possibility to consider, “it would be near impossible to take one another down.”

“If it came down to it… I don’t think I could fight you.” She inhaled through her teeth. Hidden behind the sanctum of her ribs her heart contracted painfully. Chat sounded resigned and that left a horrible taste in her mouth.

“Chat,” She didn’t know how to respond. If, _if_, she became akumatized she needed to know that Chat would deal with her accordingly. Not that she’d ever put her kitty in that position to begin with, but she needed that extra layer of security regardless. “You know that’s not how this works.”

The tension between them was thick, palpable, and far more charged than it should be. Even with her wrist bare and the effects of having the Turtle miraculous dulled, the tides of emotion continued to shift around them. Chat didn’t seem keen to exchange words, but his eyes were so big, wanting. He looked at her like she had all the answers, but she didn’t. To him, she hung the stars and that was something she’d never understand, “Let me know who you are, we can’t keep playing around! If we knew who was under the mask, we could work so much more efficiently! Have each other’s backs even out of the mask.”

Dread. Exhaustion. Heartache. All of them mingled uncomfortably close to the surface and clashed against Chat’s own warring feelings of adoration, desire, and desperation.

“No.” Her lips tightened, “Chat, not tonight—”

“Just—_listen_ to me, please!” She couldn’t deny him.

Chat traced soft lines from her hands to her arms, his nails skimming the suit and leaving goosebumps beneath the impenetrable material. His thumbs stroked her biceps, fingers flexing and locking, keeping her in place. Pent up energy coiled around his body, stroking and feeding the catastrophic fire that would surely erupt, “The rule doesn’t apply anymore, _you_ are the guardian now. We wouldn’t have to give up our miraculous! It would be less suspicious to meet as our civilian selves. Instead of sneaking away into the night, we could have genuine alibis, _protection_. Think of how much we could do, how much more _we_ could be.” Words vomited from his mouth all too similar to how she, herself, spoke outside of Ladybug.

It was hard to turn down his offer. Not when the maelstrom of his emotions eroded against the rocky exterior she needed to build up. He made good points, too. Who was to stop them from revealing themselves? _She_ was running the show now. But that wasn’t fair to Master Fu, who quite literally sacrificed _everything_ for his duty. They couldn’t disrespect his memory like that. She wanted what Chat offered. She wanted someone who _understood_, someone who always had her back against the tiring complexities of living a double life.

“Please don’t ask me to do that,” biting her lip, she tore her eyes away from his. She couldn’t compete against the naked hope and want he displayed, “you know we can’t do that. Don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”

Claws dug harder into her suit, “Ladybug, promise me you’ll think about it?” When she didn’t reply Chat only pressed harder, “I’d give you everything.” 

“I want nothing.” _From you_, went unsaid. It was left up to him to interpret.

He recoiled, hurt plastered over the slip of skin not covered by the mask.

“You’re asking for more than a partnership _Chaton_, for something I can’t give.”

“Goodnight.” She felt cold, without his hands to hold her. He tore away like he was burned and maybe he had been. His tail lashed out angrily behind him.

“Chat—” Ladybug felt selfish. She still had so much to say, things they needed to discuss—things that went before their feelings. They had a commitment, not to each other, but to Paris and she needed to know that she wasn’t doing this alone. That he would be there at the next battle at his best.

“_Goodnight_.”

A spark of silver caught the light, his baton extending and then he was gone. Propelling himself across rooftops until she couldn’t see him anymore. He vanished into the night and left her feeling like trash.

Well. It’s not like she needed sleep tonight, anyway.

A sentiment Tikki didn’t share. Her earrings beeped, a warning of five minutes despite her powers not being used. The trip home was devoid of any merit she had started the night with. Not even the sweet smell of the bakery below managed to rouse her from her self-loathing. Warm red energy surged over her skin, peeling back until she recognized her pajamas. Without Tikki’s magic to guide her she felt her body sag.

“Productive, right Tikki?” She griped but all the same trudged to her loft bed. The call of warm sheets and soft pillows too much to ignore. Flopping into her cocoon of comfort she batted away the miracle box when it rolled by her nose. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with anything else tonight.

“The nerve of that cat!” Her Kwami exploded. The red aura Tikki gave out growing in vibrancy and completely dulling any chance of falling asleep. “You did the right thing Marinette. Despite what Chat Noir thinks, the rule of secrecy pre-existed Master Fu! It’s not a chosen’s right to disregard.”

“…But what if he’s right Tikki?” Shame boiled hot in her stomach. Between Chat Noirs earnest emotions and the revengeful wrath of Tikki’s ire she felt sick. Marinette never second guessed herself, but Chat was her partner, and she had to hold his words with consideration.

“Guardians were burdened with the task of _knowing_. It drags a divide between the chosen and the rest of their peers.” Tikki murmured, pain dimmed the beautiful red glow and the tiny being almost looked close to tears, “Tell me Marinette, why do you think guardians lose their memories once they revoke themselves of the miracle box?”

“Secrecy?” She questioned, anxiety wrapping tight knots around her throat.

“That is a part of it, yes.” Her Kwami admitted, “However that is not the only reason. It is a relief to forget the isolation, the weight of their choices, and the reality of losing out on having a normal life.”

“That’s horrible…” She buried her face into her pillow and tried hard to block out the negative thoughts that flushed through her system. _Don’t think about it_, she couldn’t afford to spiral, not tonight when her emotions were running this thick. But it was hard not to think. How could she not think about how she’d end up in Master Fu’s shoes?

“It is.” Tikki readily agreed, “I’d never wish the fate of guardianship on anyone. Especially not you Marinette.”

“I know, Tikki.” Without the roar of incoming customers or the haunting tune of hums and half-finished songs the house was horrifyingly silent. Even her own chaotic mind eerily quiet in the wake of unwanted revelations. “But if that was supposed to cheer me up…”

“I’m sorry.”

“It needed to be said,” and it did, as macabre as the truth of it was, Marinette felt her beliefs were well reaffirmed. She’d break Chat’s heart, again, but this was a duty they couldn’t afford to shirk off.

Paris came first.

Marinette came second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is slightly out of place, but I felt like this needed to be put in? This is just a snippet, essentially, and will be elaborated on in the future!


	5. Keep your chin up, darling

Civilian life was boring, even when you were a civilian with a multitude of responsibilities. But really, once you’ve gone toe to toe with the most active terrorist of the decade, life tends to lose its excitement factor. Marinette considered picking up another hobby. She thrived when put to work and lately there had been a lull in her obligations. Maybe it was the cosmic deities _finally _taking pity on her demanding double life. Either way it was unappreciated, she handled herself just fine thank you.

To paraphrase: Marinette was no longer class president and she wasn’t salty about it at all.

Lila had taken on the mantle, after explaining to everyone that ‘_Marinette has too much to handle_,’ and ‘_wouldn’t this be a great way to rekindle our friendship’_? Lila was so kind, she had been told repeatedly since she walked through the gate and long before first period started. ‘_You should thank her_’ had been thrown around more times than she’d like to admit. Alya had even dared to tell her that Lila only wanted to be friends— that Marinette should try to ‘_turn a new leaf, c’mon girl, extend the olive branch_’.

Marinette had never felt more thankful for the bell. She had eagerly rushed to her new seat besides Nathaniel, who in turn had greeted her with a smile and a fresh sheet of paper. It was her, sketched out and miraculously not looking as tired as she felt. Nathaniel always captured her good side. She told him such and he had flustered, “Every side is good— wait, no I mean— ugh.” He thumped his head against the desk. If he kept the action up, then she was sure by the time they graduated there would be a face sized dent in the wood. “I can think of no way of salvaging this conversation, I’m sorry.”

Fits of laughter escaped her, and even more giggles tickled at her throat, “If it’s any help I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m not the most elegant speaker either, so don’t worry about it.”

Class went by, as it does, and Marinette couldn’t help but fidget. Lila had enraptured most of the class with her newest tall tale that took place over the weekend. Something about Prince Ali that made Rose’s face fall.

Whatever, it’s not like it was Marinette’s business. Her spirits were only further dampened by the little approving glances Adrien snuck over his shoulder. A near-silent cough next to her caught her attention. Nathaniel had slipped her another piece of paper. This time it looked like a rough draft of a comic, character poses were mapped out and vague scenery decorated the background. In the corner, light enough to be erased and barely visible enough to be seen was the scribbled word: _Outfits?_

Taking the page and cradling it between her arms, Marinette set to work. She doubted this was a part of his actual comic line, more so a distraction than anything, but she thanked him for it. Her knee bouncing against the table had probably ruined his concentration or maybe he had gotten tired of her face twisted into ugly positions as she mocked the _still speaking_ Italian—_was Lila even Italian? She could be lying about that too! —_ girl. Either way she was able to tune out the majority of Lila’s speech and the lesson had resumed.

“—Oh?” Tilting her head up enough to glance down at Mme. Bustier she was shocked to see the woman pulled from class without a sub to take her place. The room predictably exploded with whispers and rumors.

“Think she was fired?” Nath asked beside her, his interest taken with the side conversation going down below, “The school is already understaffed, so I doubt it but…”

“I don’t think the school board would fire her during a class session,” she told him as she slid back the paper, “I’m sure she’ll tell us what’s happening when she steps back in.” Nathaniel made a sound of approval and dug out a fine liner pen with a brush tip. He put the paper she was working on up top of his actual sketch book and went in with the brush nib, thoroughly saturating the paper until it bled through and left faint ghosts of color on the paper below. Ah, he had used her copy as an overlay. “So, how are you and Marc doing?”

The pen jolted in his hand, “What do you mean? We’re fine, we’re good, everything’s great.” A dreamy expression painted across his face, “_He’s_ great.”

“What? I was talking about, oh—OH!” Nath slammed one of his hands over her mouth. Delicately she pried his fingers away and smoothed over the tight, freckled, white skin around his knuckles, “I meant with your collab, that was insensitive of me, I’m sorry. I’m glad, for you two regardless though?”

“I, no, no… It’s okay. I overreacted. Really, if anyone deserves to know it’s you. We’d never have met if it weren’t for you.”

“Still it was rude of me to pry! Besides, you two would have met without me,” He huffed and waved away her counterargument. Nath looked like he wanted to continue their conversation but Mme. Bustier walked back into the classroom looking exponentially more enthused compared to her exit. Even with the distance between them she could see her teacher radiating happiness.

“Class, I have an announcement!” Not a word was spoken as everyone leaned forward in their seats, herself included, and waited expectantly to find out the latest school news, “A new student will be joining our class this Wednesday!”

The volume exploded. Her classmates obnoxiously raising their voices and waving to get their teachers attention. She looked like she expected the chaos though, and easily deflected inappropriate questions and answered the ones she knew. The new student would be male, and _very_ studious judging by Mme. Bustier mooning over his grades and test scores. He was transferring from England, but they were reassured that he was well-versed in French and would have no difficulties keeping up with their curriculum.

“Settle down now, children. I’m sure Lila remembers how nerve-wracking transferring out of country to a new school can be.” Two rows down the girl in question nodded, her hand finding Alya’s on the desk and squeezing. The perfect picture of humility. “I have no doubts that you all will welcome him with open arms.” The class cheered and Marinette was sure that the new mystery student would have no problem fitting in. Maybe she could get to him before Lila sunk her claws into him, too.

“We should have a welcome party!” Kim yelled. His limitless energy pouring out of him in waves unable to be contained in his body.

“That would be lovely!” Mme. Bustier agreed. “Lila, get to planning, would you? The rest of the class will assist in any way they can! So, don’t be afraid to ask for help.”

Second period, much like first, crawls by. She can practically feel her energy draining bit by bit until she becomes zombie-like. Sure, she’s never been the best at chemistry, but normally she can at least keep her eyes open. There is relief in the form of a substitute for third period. He doesn’t look twice at any of them and it gives her a chance to nap. Or try to anyway. Between the fluttery giggles and the flurry of planning going on around her she’d be lucky to catch a wink. There is a mention of streamers, a banner, and confectioneries. Really, she shouldn’t be jealous, but she is. One of the things she enjoyed about being class representative is that she could throw out her creative energy in a productive way. She doesn’t dare admit she’s bitter because Lila seems to be doing just as good of a job as she did. _And_ she was actively included her peers. Marinette sees it as manipulation, as a way to wiggle out of the heavy lifting but to her friends Lila is depending on them to do important tasks that will make the entire party come together.

“Marinette!” Speak of the devil. “We were talking, and we decided that it would be best if you made an assortment of pastries and the ‘welcome’ sign—”

“I can’t,” She grit out _very_ aware of all the eyes on her, “there isn’t enough time to make a banner and enough sweets to satisfy everyone.”

“C’mon girl, I’ve seen you juggle more than that! Don’t sell yourself short, I know you can do it!” Alya told her. One of her arms were slung over Lila’s shoulders and she was peering at Marinette coyly, as if she was hiding a grand secret. “Besides, I overheard Adrien gushing about the Éclairs you made last week! If you made them, that could be your chance!”

It almost felt normal. Like before Lila came over. Alya was genuinely encouraging her, a far cry from her attitude of late and Marinette felt urged to give in. And _Adrien_. That was an entirely different assortment of issues! She didn’t know how to categorize him anymore, not after Chat Blanc. Not after Miracle Queen. But that didn’t change the fact that there was still that _itsy-bitsy-tiny-weenie_ part of her that wanted him to approve of her. If she wanted to make up for her weird behavior around him and try to gain his friendship this could be her only chance! But she had learned her lesson on Hero’s Day and between all of her different duties she really wouldn’t have the time.

“I—I don’t think—,” Rose told Ivan how much she loved Marinette’s macaroons, “I can’t— if everyone could chip in and bake some sweets of their own to cover what I can’t—”

“Everyone knows you make the best pastries, Marinette! It just wouldn’t be the same! Besides, you live above a _bakery_, I’m sure you have _plenty_ to spare.” Lila contradicted.

“You got this, dudette!” Nino coaxed. Ha, if only she was unsure. No, if anything she was _very sure_ that this was a _very bad_ idea, one that she couldn’t pull off alone.

“I’ll see.” Alya pouted and crossed her arms, “I can’t promise anything. Maybe if I start making the dough during lunch break—and the sign before I go to sleep…?” Calculations ran through her brain, ricocheting and rattling her skull; despite her assurances Marinette knew the task would, still, be impossible. 

“’Atta girl!” Leaning down and giving her a soft smile Alya kissed her cheek, “You’re the best! I _told_ Lila we could count on you!”

“Yeah.” Marinette told no one as the class tuned back into their own conversations, “Count on me.”

This was a disaster! If she was lucky her _Maman_ and _Papa_ would have the time to help. Oh, who was she kidding? Marinette Dupain-Cheng was anything but lucky! Even if she put her money on the bakery having an abundance of leftovers—which they rarely did— it wasn’t guaranteed that she could take them!

Swiping her books off of her desk she neatly packed them away as quietly as possible. Risking a glance at the sub, she was more than relieved to find him slumped against the desk, forgotten in sleep and lost to the world around him.

Nobody noticed her slipping out the back door.

_Skipping class_. Her first time, not counting akuma attacks. It felt _bad_, but good, because it helped ease the tension between her brows. The halls were quiet. Lonely. No one loitering or laughing. Marinette weighed her options. If she left now, she’d make it home before the bell rang for lunch, alerting her parents that she left early. If she decided to hang around another teacher could catch her out of class and possibly give her a detention she couldn’t afford. Theoretically, she could walk the streets until it was an acceptable time to make it home. Doing so would be pointless, and if she was looking to kill time she should have just stayed in the classroom.

Unlocking her phone, she grimaced.

Fifteen minutes left. She just had to hold on for fifteen more minutes. A door creaked to her left and she frantically pushed her phone back into her purse sending a silent sorry to her Kwami for the intrusion.

Her feet trembled as she flew down the steps, “don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.” One after another her flats bounced off of the metallic material. The closer to the ground the worse her vertigo got; this wasn’t Marinette, Marinette didn’t skip classes.

But here she was, ducking into the female restroom.

“Ugh!” She huffed, her hands rising to tangle into her pigtails, “Tikki!” She whined and watched the Kwami slink out of her purse. “Why does this happen to me? It's always this, or that! No one gives me a fair warning, and everything piles up all at once!”

Tikki flicked her antenna nervously. Though the tiny deity pressed kisses along her cheeks it did nothing to calm her nerves and Marinette eyed the cookie in her purse a little too seriously. She was _not_ a stress eater. And she would _not_ succumb to temptation.

… The crumbs that dusted her lips moments later begged to differ.

“That… may be my fault?” Her Kwami slipped in reluctantly. “You know the Ladybug Miraculous attracts and stores bad luck, Marinette.”

Marinette was a lucky charm for everyone but herself, essentially. Which she was fine with. On most days. The stored energy would be released with every _Miraculous Ladybug_ and replaced with good luck that she could ride out for several days if she didn’t push her luck. But Hawkmoth had been quiet since his failure with Chloé. She had no way of releasing the bad juju she had been storing and as a result it had started to leak out and affect her daily life. 

“Is there no possible way to release it without calling for the miracle cure?”

“Well, yes but…” Tikki dawdled.

“But?” Marinette pressed, “Tikki, _please_. My luck is already crummy enough as is!”

“That’s not the problem!” The Kwami rushed to reassure, “It’s the method. Your kind have squeamish stomachs, that’s all.”

Marinette could feel the corners of her mouth pull down, “Squeamish?”

“You can’t just get rid of bad luck, it doesn’t work that way. It has to go _somewhere_, right? Think of Chat Noir, he uses his bad luck in his cataclysm so it can channel into one object entirely, rather than disperse and reign havoc on the natural world.” Tikki settled down into the palm of her hand. She was glad class was still in session and she was glad for these talks with her Kwami, even if they tended to happen more often than not in her school’s lavatories. “Well, for Ladybugs—who aren’t meant to channel bad luck— it’s a trying process. You have to purge your body of the bad luck.”

“Purge?” Tikki shot her a look that clearly stated not to interrupt her again.

“Purge, secrete, ooze.” Scrunching her nose up—but holding her tongue—she motioned for Tikki to continue, “We can’t use bad energy, so we have to get rid of it. And since it’s stored in your body…”

“It has to exit my body.” Tikki nodded.

“Think of it as sweating. The energy will circulate through your chi and leave through your pores. Your body will do most of the work, as it’s actively fighting off the bad luck.” Tikki paused then added as an afterthought, “The icky part comes after. Many of my bugs experience sickness after expelling the negative fluid and some of them just didn’t like the feel of bad luck crawling and staining their skin. It effects everyone differently.”

Shifting her weight from foot to foot Marinette felt childish, “Will it hurt?”

“No! Not at all.” Tikki crosses her arms, “It’s actually very beneficial to the body! Relieving yourself of the bad luck will allow your body to function normally again.” That would be wonderful. Marinette was tired of all the cuts and bruises that came as a package deal to her—real— and unnatural clumsiness; really, she’d do it if it could magically clear her jitters and insomnia, too. “Although it’s not necessary in this day and age, a few of my past holders chose to use the drainage as a defensive maneuver. The bad luck acted as toxins, warding away and poisoning their foes like a true ladybug!” The little god vibrated in Marinette’s hand. A large smile threatened to split across the deity’s head and the pride they radiated was enough to fill Marinette with confidence.

“I don’t think I’ll go around poisoning people,” Marinette confirmed, “but I think it’s something I’d like to try. We can talk about it more tonight.” It should be safe enough to go now, her parents would be busy with the influx of customers hoping to beat the lunch rush and wouldn’t notice her early arrival.

They didn’t, as it turns out, she could be incredibly capable of sneaking around when she tried hard enough. Marinette gave them a free pass and blamed her success on luck. When she had peaked around the corner they had been elbow deep in batter, a large order in process. She _should_ have offered to help, and she still _wanted_ to, but if she did that, she would have no time to accomplish her long list of tasks.

“Tikki, mind fetching the sugar and salt? At the very least I can get something going before I have to return to school. And if I’m quick enough I can get started on a concept sketch for the banner!” Her Kwami smiled, zipping away to gather what she needed.

Rolling up her sleeves she exhaled. She could do this! “C’mon Marinette. We got this!” She whispered as she poured flour into a bowl. Tikki bit into the bag of sugar, balancing it just enough for it to tip over into her mixing bowl. Spinning around—and not stumbling not even once—her hands found the handle to the fridge and soon she was searching the chilled space for the butter and eggs.

“We may need to make a trip to the store, Tikki. Or get someone else to do it.”

“Let’s get what we can done first, Marinette. We can worry about that later.”

She hummed. Leaning down to grab a flat pan and a cookie sheet, she huffed, “Maybe I should do something simple, I don’t want to go overboard and scare them away. It may be less overwhelming for the transfer student and give me more time to finish everything else.” English, for sure, should be on the sign. Though it could be taken as demeaning, Marinette was sure their new classmate would appreciate the sentiment. It could be hard, uprooting your life and starting fresh. Kagami had mentioned once in passing that she had gotten culture shock from her move. Japan was so different, and it had been frightening to adapt. Maybe their transfer would feel the same.

Setting down the whisk, wiping off her hands, and removing her apron left Marinette feeling a little lighter. Two dozen croissants set to rise. The batter for a set of macaroons tucked safely in the fridge.

Not bad.

If Marinette was good at anything, it was time management. Tomorrow she’d work on a crème for her _bavarois_ and get up early to start on her _petits fours_. But for now, she had a banner to design. She could incorporate the Eiffel Tower—really push the _French_ aspect—but that would be too cliched. No, if he was as studious as Mme. Bustier claimed, then he’d appreciate something simpler.

Shuffling more than walking up to her room was a hassle. But Marinette was too deep into her thoughts to bother with picking up her feet. Swiping a pen off of the floor she bit the cap and eagerly pressed the nib into the scatter sheets of paper adorning her work space.

_Welcome to Paris_, she scrawled and then, after much hesitation she added: _Apres la pluie le beau temps_.

Every cloud has a silver lining.

Maybe, in the unfamiliar times ahead, they could be his silver lining.

It felt right to break out her art supplies.

The dark clouds staring back from the white paper would be the cause of a lot of talk.

Marinette couldn’t find it in her to care.

“_Mieux vaut être suel que mal accompagne_, Marinette.”

“_Mieux vaut être suel que mal accompagne_, Tikki.”

The Kwami chittered softly in her ear, her soft cooing comforting, “My brave chosen. Don’t let them get you down, Marinette.”

“I know.” She giggled, “Besides, I’m never alone when I’m with you, Tikki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the French! Feel free to correct me if any of it seems wack. I thought it was fitting though, as Felix is entering from a primarily English speaking country and there will be moments where the languages don't connect seemlessly. 
> 
> I'm not satisfied with this chapter, but you guys deserve an update! It took so long because of finals, and I'm sorry for not informing you all sooner! Hope you enjoy, and have a wonderful day!


	6. How Time Flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not actually sure if I like this chapter or not though, I wrote most of it drunk and then subsequently hungover. 
> 
> #BlametheNewYear

“Marinette!” Tikki tugged on her pigtails. Grumbling, she decided to ignore her Kwami and burrow further underneath the covers. “Marinette!” Her dream had just been getting good, too! It eluded her now, and the more she reached for it, the more it evaporated. “Get up!”

Pressing her palms into her closed eye sockets she groaned. Tikki was insistent on getting her up. It was far too late—early?— for her to be awake. It’s not like Paris was in danger, she would have felt the presence of an akuma. The turtle bracelet wrapped her arm assured her of that. But there was nothing, not a twitch of negative energy. It was a peaceful, quiet night. Not even Hawkmoth would be cruel enough to be stirring about this late.

“Can’t whatever it is wait until morning? I’m tired.” She whined. She had stayed up too late to even consider moving from the warm cocoon of sheets. All of her creative energy had been focused on her projects and she had just about worked herself to the bone! Even now her fingers still ached, the phantom feeling of a whisk burdening her knuckles.

The lights flickered on, horrifically bright and searing across her thinly covered retinas. Bunching up her thighs and kicking out childishly the blanket that dared to twist around her body stood no chance. Sitting up and glaring around the room until she found her—admittedly sheepish—Kwami. Carding her fingers through her hair and removing the now tangled rubber bands, she made sure to soothe a finger over Wayzz and encouraged him to further hide himself under her warm, dark pillow. At least one of them would get a full night’s rest.

Sleep still stuck to her eyelashes but she managed to safely climb down her bed, a win in her books. Tikki hummed softly, her form of an apology, and Marinette was weak to it. Weak to her sugar-sweet friend, really. She couldn’t stay irritated with her for long. “I’m sorry for acting so grumpy.”

Tikki giggled, “And I’m sorry for waking you.” There was a moment of inelegance, mostly on Marinette’s part, as the two stood motionless. It was still hard, completely and utterly surrendering yourself to another, greater being. She had to remember that they were in it together; without Tikki Marinette would be helpless and without Marinette Tikki would be useless. They had to have patience with each other. Trust, more importantly, but patience was a key-factor too. Even if that meant greeting the budding dawn and losing out on sleep.

“So, what’s on the agenda?” She asked softly, reaching out and letting the Kwami rest on her hands.

“Your cleansing, of course!” Tikki buzzed, “Clumsiness aside this will be an excellent way to handle dual wielding both the Ladybug and Turtle Miraculous.”

Marinette grimaced. Using more than one miraculous at a time was definitely a risk, the pain she felt as Multi-Mouse had been unspeakable. Now, without the aid of the Mouse Miraculous, she faced severe consequences should complications arise. It didn’t help that the two Miraculous that had been thrust upon her had a penchant for _absorbing_. Bad luck was terrible enough on its own, but to be combined with the Turtle, who could feel raw energy _always,_ was just a bad time waiting to happen. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place; only the rock was self-destruction via decaying forces and the hard place was a constant migraine and bombardment of feeling. Honestly, how did Master Fu hold up under the duress? That day, with Luka and Lila and the _disappointment _and _humiliation_— it took something from her. It had been enough proof that she was in over her head. It had been too much for her. The bracelet was truly a curse.

She needed the cleansing. Needed to know the ends and outs. Needed to feel secure in her own skin again. Soon she’d have to learn how to deal with the combined effects but for now she would take a short cut. “Alright, what do I have to do?”

Tikki grinned, and Marinette swore something like pride filtered through the god before her. “I thought you’d never ask! I’d recommend getting comfy. And your yoga mat.” Curious. But she followed the directions nonetheless. There was an odd curling feeling in her stomach. Nerves, Marinette assured herself. Nausea battled dread and every step seemed hard to take. It wouldn’t be unbearable. Past Ladybug’s have managed, she could too. “It’s going to be fine, Marinette. I’d never let you go through with it if I thought you couldn’t handle it. My chosen is brave and _certainly_ not afraid of a little stretching, right, Marinette?”

Heat crept up her neck. Her Kwami, the flatter. She had noticed as of late that Tikki tended to praise and encourage her more. It was nice, definitely. Not that she needed to be coddled, but it was nice hearing appreciative words. “Right. Thanks, Tikki.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The deity schooled their features into something more serious, “Now, when you and your mother meditate…” She could do this. Tikki was a diligent instructor, Marinette exhaled through her nose as she sunk into a quarter, then half, and finally a full lotus position. Rolling her neck and rotating her shoulder blades she felt her body slump. Inhale, exhale. Feel your surroundings, everything had energy, and if you concentrated, you could feel it. It was an extension of nature, of yourself, of everything beyond. It was truly an experience—_and quite honestly, Marinette wanted to reach out, channel the Turtle and feel out her the gods residing in her home, but she didn’t think she would survive such a thing_—that she was blessed to receive. Tikki became a small whisper in the void of white noise.

It was easy to find her center. It rushed along side her veins, and it wrapped coiled throughout her chakras. It was bright, and maybe a little chaotic, but it was her very _being_ in base form. She huffed out a quick thank you to her mother, who had coerced her into those long, leg numbing moments of meditation.

Marinette had to look deeper. The destructive energy—the ‘bad’ luck—had wormed itself into her flesh and made its home in her bones. It would be tricky to grab and even harder to remove. _Focus_. She had to find the anomaly, the error. It didn’t belong. Her body was ever blooming, and she had to find and eliminate the rot. Which… was a lot easier said than done.

Not that it was impossible! But it was time consuming. It was a _process_, to put it lightly. She had been encouraged to take it slow and explore her body at an ant’s pace. From the tips of her toes to the individual strands of hair on her head. Nothing could be over looked. Muscle, sinew, bone— none of it was spared from examination. It was strangely intimate, and despite it being her own body, she still felt intrusive.

The contamination site stuck out like a sore thumb. Dark festering energy crackled about her feet, knees, and hands. It took her longer than she’d like to figure out the connection between the three entry points and even longer to get over the irony. Her hands often cradled akumatized objects which opened up connection between the taint and herself. Her feet the vessel for the shock wave of Chat Noirs’ Cataclysms. Her _knees_ were the contact area of which her body most often—_tripped_— met the earth and absorbed the lingering destructive energy in the vicinity.

The corrosive feeling made her ill. The more she focused in on it the sicklier she felt. Destruction was wrapped like a glove over her chi, corrupting and stifling the natural energy. How Chat managed to utilize such a thing on a weekly basis scared her. The fact that he could be one slip up away from exploiting such a thing… one slip up away from Blanc, was several more times frightening.

_The Black Cat is not to be trifled with. _

_Only one who understands the justly consequences could wield the Miraculous. _

_Someone who puts logic and moral ethics above all…_

Her partner’s burden was a heavy one.

Marinette exhaled. _Focus_. Breathing in deeply she dove back into the mess that was her body. All she had to do was trace the destructive energy back to its hearth and then dampen it. She followed the damaged path up past the Root Chakra, curled away from her radiant Splenic Chakra, and finally came to a halt at her Solar Plexus Chakra.

It—it was _ugly_.

A cesspool of tainted energy. Marinette felt her chest tighten uncomfortably. Something scratched, scratched, scratched at her throat. A heavy weight rested on her tongue and made her gag. _Disgusting_!

Something dribbled down her chin.

The destruction had carved a burrow deep into her bowels. Blackened lumps formed like cancer over the walls of her viscera. It oozed a putrid slime that stained her precious chi. It was going to destroy her from the inside out! It needed to go, and quickly.

White light shot through her skull. It ached and hummed and made everything hard to concentrate.

How could she even go about eliminating something so vile? All of the bad luck, all of the destruction, had festered and infected her and nothing short of a miracle could fix it. There was _so_ much of it. Much more than Tikki had estimated.

This wasn’t something she could just _sweat_ out.

She had to tear it apart at the seam. Rip out the roots that had sewn themselves into her skin. A complete purge of her internal system. Her mother had once told her the steps of the _Vajrasattva_, but Marinette had a feeling that it wouldn’t be sufficient. The Miraculous were unique.

…And governed over by their own Gods and beliefs.

As much as Marinette hated to admit it, she might be over her head here. She needed help.

Monumental effort was required to exit her introspective trance. Being consumed as she was in her body it was a struggle to climb back up into the mortal plane. Every metaphorical step was heavy as the sludge of destructive energy tried to drag her back.

And by the time she opened her eyes, the sun was high above her trapdoor and she was tucked safely in bed. Greedily she sucked in a sharp breath and threw the covers back. Her hand tangled in her matted hair as she struggled to regain her wits. Disoriented didn’t even begin to cover her confusion.

The clock on her bedside table told her it was roughly four in the afternoon. School had long since ended. She had been under for far longer than she realized!

Her hand shot out to grab her phone, it was still on the charger and blown up with messages. Most were from her classmates, wondering where she was and if she was bothering to show up today. “Tikki!” She groaned, “Why didn’t you wake me up!”

“Marinette?” Her mom called up from a floor below. Marinette’s door was thrown open, and from her vantage point she could see her mom, soon followed by her dad, crawl into her room. “Tom!” Sabine gasped as she pulled the bigger man along. In record time the pair were situated on the side of her bed, both looking equally concerned and pale. Her father was missing his apron and her mom was still in her bed robe. “Oh hon,” her mom cried as she pulled her into an embrace. Marinette hesitantly returned the gesture. The woman she looked up to, the strong, infallible woman was shaking.

“Mama?” Large fingers brushed her bangs away from her face, “Papa? What’s wrong?” The two shared a look, and Marinette hated that she could practically _see_ the tension between them. Her mother reluctantly pulled away and settled against Papa. The older woman’s fingers laced together tightly, her thumb running soothing circles over her wedding band.

“When you hadn’t come down for breakfast, we didn’t think much of it,” Her father started, “you usually get up later than normal and I don’t have the heart to wake you.” He grinned sheepishly, “After a while, when you still hadn’t made your way down stairs your mom went up to check on you.” Marinette didn’t like where this was headed. “Anyway—she, I—_we_ don’t know what happened. The doctors think it was a seizure.”

“Seizure!?”

Sabine wrung her hands and looked away. “I didn’t know what else to do, Marinette. You wouldn’t wake up and—” Tremors wracked her body, “you were covered in vomit. You were barely breathing.” Her already red and raw nose started to leak. We didn’t—we _couldn’t_ move you, if you had fallen or hurt your neck we could have—” her breath hitched, and she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“That couldn’t have happened!” Marinette hastily refuted, “I’m _fine_, I’m _okay_! Honestly, I had gotten up early this morning and thought it would be a good idea to do some stretches and—!” and what. She couldn’t tell them that she was knee deep in a word that they’d never know of. Could she really go through with lying to her parents? Scaring them and worrying them for the sake of keeping her secret safe?

She looked deep within her moms watering black eyes and decided yes.

She could, and would, lie.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

She hated liars, and she hated to lie.

She was no better than Lila.

There wasn’t any choice!

“—and…” she stopped. Unable to will her voice to continue onward.

Marinette heard her mother coo, and softly whisper reassurances into her ear. The familiar smell of flour and buttercream hit her nose as her father wrapped his strong arms around the two of them. With those impossible conditions, it was impossible to deny the urge to cry. Smushed between the two she could feel her temperature increase; her palms grow sweaty. She was so lucky to have them as her support, but she’s done nothing but worry them since receiving her earrings. She was a horrible daughter.

She cried, hiccuped, and shouted until she was exhausted.

By the time they laid her down to rest more the sky had cooled, the sun already dipping below the horizon. She felt exhausted.

…Would anyone blame her for curling up under her blanket?

Just for a few hours, that’s all.

Just a few…


	7. To Deteriorate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Slight depressive behavior

Marinette didn’t move from her bed when the sun rose above the horizon. She didn’t stir when her alarm clock shrieked in her ear. Not even the soft words from her mom could urge her to move. There was no point in getting up. Why should she when her legs felt like they were being roasted from the inside out? Why should she when her lungs were hard pressed to rise more than a centimeter? Why should she when she knew nothing good would come from it?

Yesterday was a disaster. Whatever she had done to the destructive energy only seemed to anger it. It manifested differently than before. There was a heavy bog weighing her down; it wrapped around her shoulders and made everything seem fuzzy, not worthwhile. She found solace in sleep—_during those rare few minutes she could almost forget that she was hurting—_ and chased it often.

Tikki and Wayzz were still MIA and showed no signs of popping up. They would return eventually, they had to, Marinette still had the Miracle Box. It stayed tucked close to her chest. Her fingers found themselves stroking the black spots and searching for the magic she knew was hidden there. Her Kwami were probably hidden away in there, too. They’d never go far. They were possibly just resting, recuperating, and would chastise her for wasting the day away later.

Her phone buzzed.

Shifting onto her side she brought the blanket up over her head and buried her face into her pillow. It could wait. She let out a content sigh. Her pillows and blankets were washed once a week and somehow always managed to smell of freshly baked goods. It never failed to make her sleepy.

Her phone buzzed.

The fresh ache that throbbed insistently in her bones had started to fade bit by bit. She still didn’t think she could sit up or risk breathing too heavily but it was a start. Papa had promised to bring up something light for her to snack on when the customers started to filter out of the store. Maybe, when that time finally came, she’d have her appetite back. It was good to be hopeful after all.

Her phone buzzed.

Marinette should get up. Her hip was sore, and her arms were numb. She wouldn’t wander far from her bed, and she’d stick around soft surfaces or carpet. Just in case she got dizzy. Sitting up was a hard task and moving her arm enough to lift her covers was even harder. Sighing she dropped the covers and slumped cowardly back into bed. She’d wait a little longer before trying again. It’s not that she was scared to get up though! She just… didn’t want to get hurt again. That’s all.

In an action that was more nervous than habitual, Marinette reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and froze. Normally when she’d do the nervous fidget she’d be calmed by the feel of the Miraculous under her thumb. But nothing about today was normal—not the pain, not her attitude, and definitely not the warm earlobe devoid of any magic metal.

Her arm was bare too.

Her Miraculous were missing.

Two of the most important Miraculous were missing. Gone. Removed from her being.

Not to say the others weren’t important but—

Marinette ripped the covers off of her legs and shot up. Her hands were wrapped tight around the railing as she herded herself towards the staircase. Where could they be? When had they been removed? Why hadn’t she noticed?

The soles of her feet _ached_, and every single step was like walking on nails! Marinette stuffed her free palm in her mouth and bit down. Drool pooled awkwardly in her mouth and spilled out onto her fingers which made the whole thing kind of gross.

Wobbly legs and locked knees didn’t make for the most graceful descent. She reminded herself of the American film _Bambi_ and grimaced. It was simple. Just one foot in front of the other. And yet she struggled. Like Reverser all over again.

She fumbled. The heel of her foot missed the corner of the step. Skin peeled back bringing in a fresh wave of pain. It took a moment to register the fall. Specifically, the pain. She had landed wrong. Her back plastered against the sharp jut of wood which was now surely nursing a bruise.

Sound that was half pain and mostly laughter escaped her lips. Cradling her foot to her chest—_way to klutz out, Marinette—_she let reality sink in. God, her life was _awful_.

From above, almost mockingly, her phone buzzed.

“Just shut up!” She groaned. Marinette could only deal with one thing at a time for now. Miraculous first, phone second! The paramedics had come, Marinette recalled. And then immediately trashed the idea. They wouldn’t have removed anything from her person, and if they did, her _Maman_ and Papa would have put them away for her. In her jewelry box, maybe? It wouldn’t hurt to check.

…Quietly she cursed the length of space between her bed and her vanity. Just one day in bed, was that too much to ask for? Apparently so. She’s come to expect that. So really, the sequence of events that happened next were unavoidable. It went a little like this:

Her desk, recently cleaned and polished, was the perfect height for her to lean onto. Her fingers had barely skimmed its pink, reflective surface before her feet gave away. She had scrabbled to find any give, even going as far as to sink her nails into the pristine wood. Her weight, though slight, was enough to tip the scales. Really, it happened to fast for her to take note of.

In her fright she hadn’t registered the fall, the weight, or the racket. Her heart hammered away in her chest, threatening to pop right out. Her computer monitor sat heavy on her chest, hopefully unharmed; pens, paint supplies, and craft material lay sprawled magnificently around her.

She didn’t mean to—she didn’t _want_ to cry about something so trivial. She’s faced far worse! Both in suit and out. But there was this ache, it had been building for goodness knows how long and it just kept pouring out, exposing the rawness to the open air.

Marinette was embarrassed to find that she was shaking.

“Marinette?” Alya’s voice crept up from the stairwell. “Your parents said you weren’t well, but I heard you moving around, and you wouldn’t answer my calls so…” Her breath caught in her lungs. _Alya _was _here_, she was in Marinette’s room, and would see the mess and would accuse her of slacking off on the tasks Lila gave her _and_—!

“Whoa! Fashion disaster?” The fiery girl whistled as she hauled herself up into the room, “I won’t stay long I swear, I just came by for the—Marinette!” Her best friend hissed. The thick set girl rushed over, Alya easily lifted the monitor from her person and was quick to help her sit up. “What happened?”

Biting into the soft flesh of her cheek Marinette scrambled for an excuse, “I was trying—trying to you know—it’s really funny, I just, I _needed_ to… I, I fell. That’s all.” She finished lamely, well aware of Alya’s scrutiny.

“…That’s all?” Alya sighed, disappointment creasing her pretty face. “Whatever you say, girl. Start watching where you walk, okay? I won’t always be there to pick you back up.” Marinette’s fingers tangled into the soft fabric of her sleep shirt. _What’s one more lie in the scheme of things_? She felt sick; her stomach tight and rolling.

“I know.” Marinette murmured, “Thank you for helping me.”

“What are friends for?” She waved it off, “Well, _anyway_, since you can’t make it to school today, I came to pick up the stuff. Your mom bagged the confectioneries and threw in some extras—on the house, she’s the best—I’ll grab them on the way out though. So? Where’s our award-winning welcoming banner? Ugh, that was a tongue twister.” Alya barreled on, direct as ever. That’s what she liked best about her, so she didn’t mind.

“It’s, ah, in the corner, I think. After it dried, I rolled it up so it wouldn’t wrinkle or smudge—”

“Thanks, I’ll be going then, he’s supposed to be there after lunch ends!” She cut her off and bounced down the stairs with a noticeable skip in her step.

Unable to resist, Marinette scrunched her face up and glared down at her feet, “yeah. No problem! What _are_ friends for?” Exhale. Inhale. That was no way to think, especially not of her friend. She was just sore, and cranky, that’s all.

A quick look around caused a sigh to escape her lungs. She had a lot of cleaning up to do. When she was sure that she wasn’t going to fall again that is. Distractions aside, she had a task to complete! She took her time crossing the gap to get to her jewelry box. Unlatching it was foreboding, but nothing could compare to the pure fear that came with not finding what she was looking for.

What if Tikki and Wayzz hadn’t disappeared into the box? What if someone took them, and they were genuinely missing? She had failed her sole duty; she had failed Master Fu.

“Maman!” She yelled down the still open trap door. “Can you come up here, please?”

No response. It was around lunch time, they were surely busy, and any trace of her voice would be washed away in the bustle of rush hour. She’d have to brave the stairs. And boy were there a lot of them.

But that was fine! Just one at a time! Small steps, small steps.

She lowered herself to the floor, content with just letting her legs dangle down the trapdoor. Gathering up the scraps of courage she could find, she grabbed onto the handrail and extended her leg until her foot made contact with the fourth step. Standing ever so slowly, she eased on down, taking her time and more importantly watching the steps _very_ closely.

Just as she had assumed, the bakery was horribly filled. Every table was occupied, customers idled outside, and her mother looked to be taking five orders at once.

They needed her help!

But what could she do? In the form she was in she’d only wake the situation worse. Images flitted past her eyes: A fire breaking out, a crime wave, the business bankrupting!

“Just a moment! Excuse me!” Her mom told one patron before turning slightly to pass the order to her husband who had just exited with a tray in his hands. “I’m so sorry for the delay, how may I—” She prattled on as more people entered the establishment. The two people by the counter turned into three, then five, all asking for her attention.

Even at a distance she could see the wear and tear her forming. The creased brow, the tense smiles, and the slumped shoulders all pointed towards disaster. Maybe she couldn’t take the orders, or assist in the baking, but crowd control? She’s been doing it since she was thirteen and fresh faced with newly pierced ears.

Licking her lips and filling her lungs she almost smiled at what would come next. Placing two fingers on her lips she induced a noise so shrill it penetrated the thick ambiance of the boulangerie. At once, every head snapped to attention. Standing wide and confident—_the red suit was warm on her skin, the mask hiding all of her insecurities_—she let her eyes meet each and every one of the customers. “If you have already ordered and are waiting on your purchase _please_,” she narrowed her eyes and made it very clear she didn’t care if she was being polite or not, “move to the left of the counter. If you are finished, excuse yourselves so we may serve other customers,” she looked at three tables in particular, “and finally, single file! The food will not come any faster if you yell for it at the top of your lungs. Why not make the process more efficient for everyone involved?”

There were a few embarrassed apologies murmured, and a steady crowd trickled out of the door freeing up much of the floor. Older, loyal, consumers chuckled into their hands and sent a few thankful glances her way. Younger customers, those she envisioned with nothing better else to do, spat a few words and bounced out without a glance behind. There was an elderly gentleman who complained rather loudly at her interference and overall horrible service quality. Her father was quick to use his height and broad stature to usher him out. It was still packed, but not nearly as chaotic as before.

Marinette was sure she’d hear about this later, but for now she relished in the proud and thankful smiles sent her way. “Maman, Papa, do you need any help?”

“No, you should still be resting. Sorry it’s taking so long, honey. Wait in the living room, okay? We can close up after lunch. We can even make some soup and spend the rest of the relaxing. How does that sound?” Her papa beamed as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Vegetable with grilled cheese?” She called back cheekily.

“Only the best for my baby!” He answered and Marinette felt a grin split her cheeks.

As she wandered back upstairs, she couldn’t help but blush at the leers thrown around by their regular patrons. She could hear her mom being congratulated on having such a good daughter and fought back the urge to tell them she had even better parents. Even if she didn’t accomplish her original goal—_really what was Marinette expecting herself to do? Interrupt her busy mother and demand back a pair of earrings that she may or may not have_—she got something equally as rewarding.

And really, she didn’t even have to wait that long. Her appearance must have rattled her parents, making them work double time in order to see to her needs sooner. She was sort of glad though, they deserved a break. Her mom didn’t look impressed—more than likely due to her stunt downstairs—but didn’t comment about it, nonetheless. Instead, she untied the apron from her qipao and sat heavily on the couch. “Thanks, _bǎobǎo_.”

Marinette watched her mother intensely, her eyes locking onto the way muscle twitched under soft skin. She hadn’t noticed recently, and maybe it was all a trick of the light, but to her the crow’s feet that dug into her mom’s skin seemed far more pronounced than usual. She was burdened. Marinette could relate to that. Leaning over and bridging the gap that separated them, Marinette softly laid her head on the cloth of her mom’s favorite dress. In a practiced ease the pigtails slid from her hair and her mom was quick to take up the task of combing her hair. From scalp to ends her moms’ fingers worked diligently, reminding Marinette of a time long forgotten.

“Sorry, I know that was bad for business.”

“Well, we’ll let it slide, just this once. Can’t have you throwing out customers too often. Now _that_ would be bad for business.” Her mom quipped. “Besides, if you didn’t do it, I would have. And that’s even worse.”

She laughed, “You’d kill someone.”

“Maybe.” Her mom peered at her through thick lashes, “But they’d have deserved it.”

“I’d help you hide the body!” Dad soothed as he squeezed onto the couch on her free side. “We could turn that into the family business. Much more involving than a bakery, don’t you think?”

“Papa,” Marinette groaned, “don’t encourage her!”

“Alright, alright. But only because _Nonna_ Gina hates clichés.” He admitted, “Can’t you just imagine it though? We get Sabine dressed up in one of your Marinette Originals, a cat, and a dark room with a computer chair and reenact a scene from _The Godfather_.”

Now _that_ had her laughing. Her voice rasped as she struggled to hold herself together. Her rib cage burned as she struggled to keep in enough oxygen to sustain her wheezing disposition. Wiping away the tears that begged to fall she mock glared up at her dad, “I can’t believe you said that.”

Mom, who had held her tongue looked at the both of them seriously, “_I don’t like violence, Tom._” She started in shaky English, “_I’m a businessman, blood is a big expense._” And finished strong, her composure not even twitching.

There was quiet and then there was Marinette: “Oh my god!”

Distantly, above all the chortling and wheezing she heard her dad ask her mom to marry him, to which her mom responded that they already were. “Again.” He said with so much love in his voice that Marinette swooned.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Mom smiled, “but a second honeymoon on the other hand…”

“Discussions for later!” Dad approved, “but for now, I think a certain little lady needs to be eating her weight in soup and grilled cheese.”

“I wholeheartedly agree, dear.”

With that, she was ushered into the kitchen. Mom moved the pot to one of the back burners and took out a skillet, “Extra cheese?”

“Please!” Marinette said.

Like well oiled cogs in a machine, her parents slid and moved around each other as they worked to bring the dish to life. Her fathers’ hand would skirt around her moms’ shoulders when he needed to reach something above her head. In return, her mother would dance away from his lumbering form right before he could bump into her. She skillfully diced up carrots while he flipped the sandwiches to avoid burning. It had been a while since she got to marvel at the sight of them in their prime.

“One Marinette special coming up!” Her dad cooed as he slid a bowl to her. “I’m expecting a clean bowl missy! No ifs, ands, or buts!”

Her mom then added a platter of grilled cheese to the center of the table, “Tea, water, or soda?”

“Tea, please.” Marinette spoke around a spoonful. She felt a little like a kid again, being catered to by her parents, and made sure to thoroughly soak it all in.

Dad nodded, looking oddly pleased as he set down his own bowl then handed her a mug, “Careful now,” he smiled mischievously, “the _tea_ is _piping_ today.” Marinette snorted and felt a sharp sting in her nose as she struggled to swallow the mouthful, “In fact, I heard a brave little girl _popped off_ at a group of _boomers_. It was _lit_.”

“That just sounds wrong!” She shrieked in a typical teenage manner.

“I think I agree with Marinette, dear. We’ve teased her enough for one day, don’t you think?” Mom cut in, though she was smiling too, the traitor.

“Alright, alright. I concede.” He taped his spoon against the bowl, “but I think I _killed it_ regardless.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry.”

Marinette was content to let the silence settle, completely at ease. She twirled her spoon against the red broth, her thoughts wandering. If things could remain, just as they were…

A sigh belly deep crawled fell from her nose. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t stop time, “Hey, have either of you seen my earrings and bracelet? You know the little black ones? And the brown leather band? I could’ve sworn I was wearing them…”

Her dad leaned back in his seat, his hand coming up to scratch at his chin.

“Oh.” Her mom acknowledged, “I took them off. It looked like you were having an allergic reaction to the metal. Your poor ears were raw and infected. Have you been cleaning them properly? Your wrist too, it was all red and peeling.”

Her father nodded, “Right! We didn’t want to throw them away in case they were important, but I don’t want to see you wearing them again, okay? We’ll get you another pair.”

Marinette bit her lip, she felt almost weightless as relief crashed over her. That was a far better fate than what she expected. She’d have to find new places to wear them, as to not attract her parents’ suspicion, but they’d be returned, nonetheless.

“That’s fine!” She exhaled, “Thanks for not throwing them away, they really are important to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had lost them.” Fisting her hand into her shirt, she mentally counted down the minutes until she was excused from the table and reunited with her Kwami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally, Sabine and Tom were going to have thrown away the miraculous, but honestly I can't see such loving and understanding parents do so without her permission. That being said... i might do a one-shot where they did throw them away. Because lord knows i did another page and a half of writing before scrapping the idea. 
> 
> Ya'll, i aint spoiling or nothin, but next chapter is looking pretty exciting. 
> 
> We need a break from all this angst!


	8. Life is for the living, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was split in half, which is why its so short, i just didn't think the next segment flowed well enough to keep them together. So, sorry for the shorter chapter! Look forward to two new characters next chapter! 
> 
> ....Choo choo! All aboard Lukanette express.

The night had seemed to drag on despite the multiple comforts that were piled on her. Marinette appreciated it, really, she did! But after a point it got… smothering. The ice cream had sat heavy in her stomach. The movie, _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir_, was great and she was honored; but it was flawed and left her feeling sore in relation to her on screen duplicate.

“_Chat! We can’t be together. You wouldn’t like me—the real me!_” Movie adaptation Ladybug told a sincere and suave Chat Noir. She had huffed, and calmly told her dad who had scoffed at her lack of romance that it made no sense.

“Isn’t Ladybug real enough? Whoever she is in the mask is who she is outside of it! She doesn’t need a mask, or some alley cat, to feel good about herself.” If Marinette was a little salty about the movie, so what. Besides, her statement was soon lost in the awe of great animation. Though, if she had to change _anything_, it would be the movie’s primary antagonist: Monsieur Pigeon.

The opening theme, however.

That was beautiful.

Even her—_Ladybug’s_—voice actor, an English girl named Bridgette, was a perfect fit. Her voice was lower pitched than Marinette’s own, but she figured puberty would change that. Honestly, it was a little scary how alike they looked. The actress had even gone as far as to adopt a Ladybug persona outside of filming. Which included pigtails. And, god forbid the actress ever trim her hair, Marinette may just have a body double on her hands.

When the film ended Marinette was quick with an excuse on her tongue. She was tired and had school the next morning. Her parents were reluctant to let her go and tempted her with the offer of staying home again. She wanted to take it, but she feared getting stuck in the same slump twice. They had reminded her to keep her door open, just to be safe, and Marinette hated that she had been the one to make them so cautious.

And the miraculous—how she had put them out of her mind for so long she’d never know—were burning a hole in her pocket. Her mom had returned them after they cleaned up the kitchen; she had cleaned them for her, the metal holding a fresh polish that she thought Kaalki would enjoy.

Now, shivering and unsure on her balcony, she allowed herself to hold them. When they had first been returned, she had been scared, not daring to let her fingers linger in fear of summoning the two deities in front of her parents. Now, with the two magical apparatus sitting in her palm, she could breathe easier. Now, she’d finally feel complete again.

The few hours she had gone without their magic inhabiting her body was torture. Marinette had gotten used to channeling their power, used to finding comfort in the warmth of the miraculous and without them she had felt horribly cold. If she was being honest, it worried her how reliant she had come to be on the miraculous. Even in day-to-day chores the absence was notable. They were strong together, Marinette and Tikki, they brought out the potential in one another. Marinette wondered if this was what Fu felt, what he was trained to accept. Marinette couldn’t imagine living without the Miraculous and its magic. Not anymore.

Picking up one of the small, black studs she exhaled and tried to imagine Tikki.

She tried to imagine the strength that she felt, both literal and metaphysical. The feeling of being more than she was worth. The feeling of easily hefting Alya on her shoulders. The feeling of making a name for herself as more than a girl, more than a human.

And it was so…. _Familiar_. So easy. But there was doubt.

Her parents had been so worried.

Was all of _this_, this, _power_ really worth it? Worth seeing the terrible anxiety she spilled onto the people who arguably loved her the most? Since when had ‘good enough’ become ‘not enough’?

…She was running in circles and quite frankly being unfair to herself.

_Ding!_

Glancing down at her phone, she was surprised to see Luka’s name appear. It was late, he should be asleep by now; not that she really had a right to nag him, but still. Regardless, she couldn’t help but smile, the goof had sent her a picture of his nail polish, which though chipped, still looked fine to her.

_Gel always flakes off so quick_

_I think I might repaint them though_

_any color suggestions?_

She snorted. Despite the punk exterior, he put a great deal of care into his appearance. He didn’t mind chipped nail polish, but he wasn’t a fan of it either. The last time they talked, he had revealed that he enjoyed the fresh shine of a new coat and that scuffs and chips took away from that. That, and painting his nails calmed him, so he usually took the chance to paint them whenever he could.

Marinette eyed the pavement below her. Would he mind if…? Just for a little while, to clear her head. She hated to use the word ‘distraction’ and she hated the idea of leaving right now, especially while her parents were so vulnerable.

Against her better judgement she sent a reply to him and curled her fingers over the railing to her balcony. The roofs were slippery, and slanted, completely impossible to scale.

She’d have to leave the old-fashioned way then.

Creeping down the stairs just far enough down to peer into the darkened room below, she was pleased to see her Maman and Papa had retired, too. Cautiously making the rest of her way to the door of their apartment, she slipped on her coat and flats. She wouldn’t be long, not enough for them to notice, anyway.

A brisk walk past the park and to the bridge where André last set up shop seemed like nothing compared to building excitement she felt. She had snuck out tons—considering her night job—but never like this. Never _for_ this.

Were these the things she was missing out on?

How much of her life had passed her by during her brief debut as Ladybug? How much more would continue to pass? Would she be stuck until she gave up the Miracle Box? Trapped in a loop with no end in sight? Just how much could she give up before there was nothing left? She wanted to live! Be a teenager! Experience everything Ladybug held her back from being! Marinette wanted to be allowed to be petty, wanted to be able to feel anger, and sadness and not worry about the consequences of doing so. 

“Marinette?” and _God_, his voice always seemed to strike a chord with her, “What’s up? It’s not like you to want to meet up so late at night.”

“Well,” she dug her hands deep into her pockets, “maybe it is like me and you just didn’t know.” Ugh, she didn’t mean to say it like that. He probably thought she was rude.

“That’s fair,” Luka conceded easily, “I’ll remember, for future reference.” He winked at her before hoisting himself up far enough to sit on the railing. He looked at peace, his face subtly tilted up to admire the stars. He still had his jacket, but instead of his normal skinny jeans he was wearing sweats, and his guitar was nowhere to be seen. “Juleka said you weren’t at school today.” He said. And it wasn’t invasive or dismissive, just curious.

“Yeah I…” What could she tell him? Not the truth obviously. But she didn’t see a reason to worry him either. “…had gotten really sick last night. Nothing contagious, or anything, but it was enough that my parents didn’t want to send me to school.”

“Are you okay?” Looking at him, at the softness that still clung to the angles of his face, at his pretty and sincere eyes—she caved.

“No.” He became more alert. “Not sick but. Confused? And angry. At myself.” The silence was thick, and Luka was obviously floundering, not expecting an answer like that that. “It just feels like I’m stuck, and I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. Everyone has these different expectations of me”—_red suit, stern demeanor, savior; pastel pants, doormat, nobody_—"and none of them really fit.” It was an odd thing. Being made up of so many meanings that you begin to contradict yourself.

Rambling was her forte, and she could probably keep her rant going, if she wanted to. But maybe she should take pity on Luka, who was woefully unprepared and kind of looking uncomfortable.

“You’ve got time.” Is what he says before she could tell him to forget it. “Right now, you’re Marinette. And that’s good enough, isn’t it?” He fumbles slightly, his hands pushing up on his sleeves and fiddling with his ring, “Maybe who you are today isn’t who you’ll be tomorrow and that’s fine. That’s a part of growing up isn’t it? Finding out who you are?” His eyes lock with hers and he repeats: “You’ve got time.”

The steam just seemed to evaporate from her body. She had so much more she wanted to say. Doubts that developed in days turned into festering months of insecurity. But she couldn’t put that on him. Not on Luka. There was so much that she was holding herself back on. So much she was holding back from him.

Marinette didn’t deserve Luka. And she especially didn't deserve whatever it was that they had. Not his calm blue eyes. Or his patient smile. Or that crooked smile that made his nose crinkle. Marinette didn’t deserve a lot of things. Was she selfish for taking them anyway?

“…What if I don’t have time? What if everything is riding on a single action? What if I make a mistake and everything—” and she does mean _everything_— “comes crumbling down because I couldn’t handle the responsibility?” Her knees trembled. Sinking down into a low crouch she cradled her head in her hands and sighed, “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. Feel free to ignore me.”

“I’m sorry too,” Luka murmurs, “I don’t know what to say.” And there is silence. Marinette hears him shifting about, probably grabbing for an instrument that wasn’t there. “I know it isn’t my place to ask. And I’d never force you, but please, I can’t help unless you let me, Marinette.” There was a soft noise as his sneakers touched down on the cobble bridge. His deft fingers dancing lightly on her shoulder as he sat next to her. “And If I’m being honest, I’m scared.”

“…scared?”

“Yeah.” His cheek smushed into her hair, “You’re magnificent.” Heat rushes to her cheeks, “But you don’t think you are. And I think that’s terrifying. You put everyone above yourself. When was the last time you told somebody no?”

Chloe. She told Chloe no. That counted, right?

“When was the last time you did something, something _you_ wanted?”

“I…” She did plenty for herself. Right?

“When was the last time you let yourself be _you_?”

Her breath hitched. She knows when. It was a long time ago. Before she met Lila. Before she met Alya. Before she got her earrings. Before she met Chloe. Before she learned what the word _expectation_ meant.

It had been so, _so_ long.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks.

Her nails bit into her palm.

“It feels like every time I’m with you, I cry,” she laughs, her eyes burning. His arm flexes and suddenly she’s rocketed into his side. His chest vibrated as he hummed.

“Sorry. But I can’t take back what I said. I meant it.” Luka was shaking just as much as she was. Wrapping him up in the tightest hug she could manage from her angle, she hummed back. He put himself out tonight, more than she expected him to.

“That’s okay. I think, I needed that, for a long time now.” Rubbing her head into the softness of his jacket, her lungs quiver, “I want to be me. If you’ll be you with me.” How can something so good feel so tiring? “I want to do everything that,”—being Ladybug— “I would normally never let myself do. With you. I want to sneak out. I want to be angry. I want to be selfish.”

The slight pressure of lips against skin sends her brain into overload. It was just a brush, just a touch, gone as quick as it came against her temple. But it was enough.

“I’d like that.”

“…I also want you to paint your nails Marinette Pink, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you are safe and keeping yourselfs entertained at home! Feel free to message me, i'm always up to talk if anyone needs! Also, this story may or may not be getting a tumblr, just so i have a place to put any doodles i do for the fic. Though I think it would be fun if I made it "marinette" run? She'd post 'pictures' or her friends and any clothes she designed for them. What do you guys think?


	9. When The Cat Comes A Calling

The moon dipped below the horizon bringing in the dawn of a new day. Marinette was relieved to find that she didn’t feel as reluctant when she put on her magic jewelry. The Turtle band was tied tightly at the curve of her ankle. The Ladybug earrings were pierced through the soft material of her jacket, right where the buttons for cuff-links would be placed—if she had any. And thanks to the inactive state of the stones, they were near unnoticeable. Unless you knew what to look for of course.

She hadn’t willed the Kwami’s to reform. Marinette wasn’t ready to do that yet. She wanted to soak up as much normalcy as she could. Once her two advisors returned they’d all have to have a talk. One that she had initially dreaded but now looked forward to having. The Miracle Box couldn’t go untouched for much longer. Not to mention that Wayzz would need to set up a conversation with the Tibetan monks, too. Another item on her list was to deal with the unresolved conflict currently spiraling in her chi and wrecking her body from the inside out.

But that was a _later problem_ and at the moment the only problem she wanted to address was her growling stomach.

Her second wind was strong enough to lift her feet. One step at a time; it was refreshing.

Marinette had managed to arrive at school early. If that didn’t call for a trophy or two, she didn’t know what did. There were no sickly feelings of trepidation or any intense urge that made her want to hide away until she was eighty. Just, acceptance? Maybe that wasn’t the right word. She was assured, more confident. If the day went south, then it was okay. She just had to take it slow. One day at a time. 

The courtyard was so much quieter than she remembered it being. With only the soft morning light and a few dozing students to provide noise, it was almost serene. “Good morning,” Marc said as he passed by. He went to his normal hiding spot, the stairs acting as both shade and a resting post. Following behind a moment later she sat next to him, watching with a warm ooey-gooey feelings as he thumbed the pride bracelet around his wrist. “I’m not used to seeing you around here so early. Did you sleep well?”

She did, in fact, it was one of the best she had gotten in a while. He seemed pleased by the answer and softly nudged her thigh with his, “Good. You looked dead on your feet last Friday. How is Nate supposed to use you as a Muse if you looked like Hades instead?”

Snorting at his joke, she held back the urge to break into dramatics. “Well,” she said coyly, “I guess you’ll just have to take my place.” His face lit up and to her welcomed surprise he only grinned.

“How could you compare Persephone to a mere Muse?” He chortled.

Marc ignored her tongue and instead slumped further into her body, “I can’t believe you. Where did you get all this sass from?” She griped with no real heat behind her words.

“Theater, mostly.”

“I mean, that’s fair—”

“—Shhhh!” Marc hisses suddenly. In a parallel Marinette found all too funny, his hand clamped over her mouth as he glared at something just outside of her perspective. “Look over there, see him? _That’s_ the new guy! Turns out he’s kind of a jerk.”

Eager to see the face she missed out on seeing yesterday, she spun in place, and… he _did_ look like a jerk.

Not that she’s one to judge a book by its cover but… He was tall for their age group, like above average height tall, and had smoothed, pale blond hair. His eyes were an icy blue color that were framed by deep bags. If that wasn’t enough to draw one’s attention, he was also wearing a suit. His slacks were finely ironed, and his crisp button up was held down by a vest and tie. In summary, he looked completely out of place among the avant-garde style of their peers.

“He doesn’t look _that_ bad,” she insisted, “Just a little stiff?” That was putting it lightly. He looked washed out; dull, and not liable to relax. His posture reminded her a little of Chloe’s, only, even with the expensive looking clothing she didn’t peg him as a rich snob. It was the little things really—like, what self-respecting rich kid wouldn’t shine their shoes? Even Prince Ali, as kind and humble as he was, made sure his appearance was spotless. “Besides, it can go two ways you know. Maybe he was just nervous, and everyone came on too strong.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still! That’s not even considering the horror story I heard yesterday.” Marc leaned back.

Marinette watched downhearted as he subtly pulled the sleeves of his jacket further down his wrists and slunk back into his hood. “Your class did it’s thing; snacks, a warm welcome, the whole shebang. But him? Not a smile or a thank-you in sight! He just said that they had wasted their time and took a seat. Pulled out a book and ignored everyone.” He grimaced and made a rude hand gesture, “Not exactly nervous behavior, trust me, _I know nervous_. He doesn’t fit the requirements. Now, if you re-direct your attention, you can, however, see that he drips pretentiousness.” Marc squinted, “oozes it, even.”

“Stop,” she mumbled halfheartedly. Was it bad that she almost cracked a smile at his over-zealous evaluation? Maybe. Though in her defense, Marc used his drama classes well. “Even if he is a bit rough around the edges you shouldn’t sink to his level. Actually… why don’t we go say hi!” She pressed and rose to her feet. “I’m sure if we show him that we aren’t trying to bombard him and keep our chill—”

“—Marinette and chill? Unbelievable.” Nathaniel teased as he rounded into their hide-out. “No offense, Marinette.” He plopped down next to Marc and subtly linked their pinkies together. It was practiced; she wondered how long they’ve been talking for the movement to be so effortless.

“None taken.”

“Try your best, but don’t expect much.” Marc offered and leaned a bit further into his… _boyfriend?_ “I’ll be here to say, ‘I told you so’.” Nath snorted and shot her a reassuring smile.

“You got this. If anyone has a chance to get him to open up, it’s you, Marinette.” She beamed and took his words to heart. It was nice having such supportive friends. And Marc.

“I got this!” She repeated and marched confidently towards the new student. It seemed like all eyes fell on her, not that she minded, but the hush quiet that dominated the courtyard was almost foreboding. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the winds of change roaring. Odd. She wished she could interpret more; Where master Fu’s teaching’s fell short, she’d have to adapt, improvise. Whatever the outcome of her interaction with the new kid, it was going to be a life changing one.

“Hi,” she spoke softly, not especially harsh but calculating all the same, “I’m sorry I missed you yesterday, I was out sick. My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” The turtle miraculous was burning; she was sure there would be a welt there when she checked. Just what was so special about this boy?

His eyes were electric as he stared her down. He almost reminded her of an alley cat in the way he bristled at her outstretched hand. Wary and gaunt in complexion and mannerisms. “Félix Esposito.” His arms flexed beneath shirt and then crossed above his chest. He seemed shocked that she approached. “I’d appreciate some personal space, if you wouldn’t mind.” Félix was an abrupt person, blunt even, but not rude. It was disheartening that he didn’t accept her welcome warmly, but she wouldn’t force herself on him if he was nervous or unsure. She had a feeling all he needed was a little time.

“No problem. It was nice to meet you, Félix. See you in homeroom.” He tilted his head, his shoulders loosening every so slightly.

“Likewise, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” She waved as she jogged back over to Marc and Nathaniel. On her way over, she passed by Alya who only spared her a glance. Lila, who Alya orbited glowered but didn’t open her mouth. She praised Tikki for the little miracles.

Returning to her boys was a grounding experience. She felt something click into place; intrigued didn’t even begin to describe the feelings she got from Félix. She needed to talk to him again, and soon. As she retold her brief encounter to the boys, she discretely stroked her miraculous. She’d have to awaken Tikki and Wayzz sooner than she wanted.

“Hey,” she smoothly interrupted Nathaniel and Marc’s conversation that had somehow focused on the color blood orange and if said color was pretentious or not, “Where does he sit? With Ivan, right? That’s the only free seat still open in class.”

“Actually, he kind of stole my seat for the day,” Nathaniel whined, “not that it was the end of the world or anything, but I’d hate to get on his bad side by trying to force him out of it. Should we head to class earlier today? To save the seats?” He looked at her.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she murmured as she picked at her jacket, “but would you mind sitting with Ivan, for just a bit longer?” Her tongue pressed tightly to the roof of her mouth, wondering if what she’ll say next would raise red flags or not. Tikki and Wayzz were great, really, they were, but she needed a _human_ opinion. “There’s something about him that I can’t explain. I need to get to know him better.”

Marc arched an eyebrow, “’_need_’, that’s a pretty strong word.” Heckling aside, there was no denying the curiosity on Marc’s face. That was to be expected though, he was a writer, a good one at that. It was his duty to remain observant and pick apart word play. “Attitude aside, I guess I could see it. He just looks shady, doesn’t he?”

“Not shady!” Marinette interjected, “We aren’t seeing the real him. I’m sure of that. Something’s holding him back.”

“I don’t mind it.” Nathaniel hummed, “But don’t try to force anything out of him, either. I know you mean well Marinette, but sometimes it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

That was true; Marinette could count the number of failures and embarrassments her meddling brought upon herself. Ideally, she would leave the new kid alone and wait for him to come to her. That wasn’t her style though. She was _Ladybug_—it was practically in her job description to take charge and create the change she wanted to see. Be it peace for Paris or getting a gloomy guy to open up to her; it was all the same thing in the long run, right?

“I make no promises.” She said sheepishly. “But you’ll be right in front of me anyway, you can help keep me in line.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes but agreed and in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness leaned in and placed a—though chaste—kiss on Marc’s cheek. "I'll need that for luck, or patience, whatever is needed first." The action caused all three of them to light up brighter than the Parisian skyline at night. Marinette, in an effort to preserve whatever coherent thought she had left, bid them a quick farewell with only a tiny squeal of contentment leaving her mouth. As she sped away from the pair, she couldn’t help the large grin pulling at her face! Even as her heartbeat threatened to invoke bodily harm onto her rib cage, she couldn’t help but let out a hiss of high-pitched air. They were too cute together! She hoped one day she could be like that with Luka.

Luka.

She felt her face heat further.

Marinette had come a long way since her silly crush on Adrien. It was a testament to her growth, she decided, that the outlandish dreams of island houses and hamsters were being replaced by a tidal wave of blue, nail polish, and dark nights.

She wondered if he followed through on her request. The image of him rocking her shade on his fingers—and boy could she prattle on about his _long_ and _dexterous_ fingers that were both elegant and rough in equal measure—was almost too much for her overworked brain to comprehend. She could text him. It was a risky move, but the urge was a strong one; if she did, she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus for the rest of the day. Honestly, one teeny-tiny message wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Her body was riddled with nervous jitters as she anxiously typed out: _Good morning! I hope I didn’t keep you up for too long. Have a good day at school. _She closed the message off with a hesitant heart emoji and pressed send before she lost her nerve. Quickly closing out of the app and settling her phone to silent, she made her way towards the classroom.

Ten minutes remained until first period. The population in the classroom was understandably scarce and ebbing. The moment she walked in; Rose walked out, probably to greet Juleka who often arrived mere minutes before the bell. Max and Alix were in their seats and having a discussion over the probability of blue tooth skateboards. When she got close enough, she was hard pressed to ignore the side-eye from Max—who was more than likely thinking about the last time they were in the same room together—and the odd twist of Alix’s face. It was much harder to read Alix than the other’s in her class. The little dare devil was brutal and blunt on a good day and down-right hateful on her worst. Marinette depended on her as a friend regardless but that didn’t mean she could forget the girl’s previous words. The snide and petty scoff of: _Does she really have the right to?_ Still made her flinch.

Not that she could blame her! Alix had a close relationship to Max and would obviously choose to defend her friend and lash out at the person who ‘hurt’ him. Likewise, she _also_ had a fairly friendly relationship with Nathaniel. The same Nathaniel who considered Marinette to be one of _his_ closest friends. That being said, there was some serious lines being drawn in the classroom politics.

If Marinette had to give Lila anything, it was that she was clever. Because Marinette’s totally rightful disdain towards the girl seemed to offend everyone who Lila managed to sink her claws into. That meant, of course, that any slight to Lila became personal. The issue that started off between Marinette and the Liar transformed into Marinette and the Liar but also the Class versus themselves. Civil discourses in history would weep at the sheer intricacies her class was reckoning.

Factions were being divided right before her very eyes. But… that wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing. She could use that to her advantage. For a brief moment she felt bad about that thought. Marinette had learned how to fight and find loopholes to use to further her success as Ladybug, this was no different.

It was just playing to her strengths! That’s all.

She could possibly ‘redeem’ herself, with a little help from two of the greatest artists she knows. If she could get Nathaniel to help clear her name with Alix and Max, then she’d have two very important people on her side. Three, technically, since where Max and Alix went, Kim followed. She’d talk to them about it at lunch.

So caught up in her scheming, she failed to notice when Félix sat next to her. He moved quietly and didn’t make much noise. He sat with his back straight and shoulders strong. Did he go to a private school before transferring? Maybe a catholic, instead. It would match up with his stiff and prim manners; the uniform pristine suit, too. Even his breathing was cautious, she mused. Still, she didn’t want to spook him. He looked fairly invested in his book; which, squinting she managed to make out the cover.

A soft blue shell decorated with swirling colors. In fancy golden script she could make out an American author with several titles heralding his education. A manuscript about space and anti-matter relating to black-holes.

“Woah,” a breath of awe left her lungs. She didn’t want to seem stupid by asking if he enjoyed space, but she still couldn’t help but be impressed by such a difficult subject, “Space, huh?” Despite her hesitance, she still managed to sound like a fool.

“…Yes.” He confirmed with a terse side-eye, “Is that an issue?”

Marinette reared back, nervous sweat pooling onto her palms, “No! Not at all. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Félix probably thought she was a total creep! “I just saw the cover and thought it was cool, you know?” She didn’t think he did but she pressed on regardless, “I love the stars even if I can’t see them that often with the light pollution—” rambling, she was rambling, “—but I don’t think I could understand half of the things described in that book.”

Something between a sneer and a sigh pulled at his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he closed his novel, “It would not be difficult to understand if one took the time to.” He murmured, “I appreciate the interest on behalf of a subject I enjoy, however, it is redundant.”

“Oh,” she stuttered. “I just thought it would be nice to—”

“I don’t need your charity, Miss Marinette.” He hissed almost immediately. “I have no need for your companionship. Nor do I want it.”

“It’s not charity!” She clarified, “I’m sorry if I bothered you, but I think everyone enjoys some company now and then, don’t they?”

“You thought wrong.” Félix insisted and returned to glaring at his hardback. “Also, you have been called twice to confirm your attendance.” Sputtering, she turned to the front of the classroom to find out he was being truthful.

In the short time between their exchange the rest of her classmates had filled in and had been watching their exchange with inquisitive eyes. Even Mme. Bustier who had her pen primed for checking off her students’ names had been watching their exchange with interest. How awkward! She called out a high-pitched, “Here!” and ducked her head down, hoping for the desk to eat her whole.

Peeking her eyes out of the cave she made with her arms, she caught the last traces of a smile-smirk disappear from his face and categorized that disaster as a victory. She’d make a friend out of him yet, even if it was at the expense of her pride and reputation!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! We've met Felix, he's kind of a jerk, but he's a mysterious jerk so it's okay. Sorry for the OOC moments between Marc and Marinette and Marc and Nathaniel btw. I just feel like Marc has so much more sass and personality to bring to the screen. Both boys are a lot different in private and in trustworthy company. 
> 
> Also!! I made that Tumblr for this fic, so expect art up soon. Feel free to drop by and send asks for "Marinette" or to me. Honestly, don't care, it's just nice to talk to people now a days, isn't it? Come Visit: https://mdclothingvide.tumblr.com/


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